


Thirty Seconds Sooner, Thirty Years Too Late

by notyouranswer (gorgeouschaos)



Series: Thirty Seconds Sooner [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Dark Matt Murdock, Elektra Natchios Lives, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Matt Murdock Angst, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Season/Series 02, Roman Catholicism, avengers cameos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 41,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/notyouranswer
Summary: Frank gets there half a minute sooner. Elektra and Matt run.Whether or not this is a happy ending is up for interpretation.





	1. A Small Change

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> I'm not finished with this fic yet but I'm not going to have wifi for about a week, so I figured I should post the first part now. Expect an update in two weeks or so. 
> 
> I was watching the season two season finale and it just hit me that if Frank had gotten there just a little sooner and shot Nobu, things could have been entirely different.  
> It's Daredevil, though, so different doesn't necessarily mean better.  
> Sorry for rambling. Hope you like the first chapter! :)

The bullet takes Nobu through the shoulder and he drops his knife with a bit-off hiss. Elektra catches the blade as it falls and stabs Nobu through the heart. Matt is too busy fighting off three others to worry about if Nobu’s dead or not. With their leader dead, they seem to be losing some of their motivation, but the Hand’s soldiers are still deadly.  
\---  
“See ya around, Red,” Frank murmurs after the fight is over, and Matt jerks his head in acknowledgement. Frank probably won’t be seeing him again if the Punisher stays in New York, but somehow Matt thinks Frank knows that.

Elektra waves her fingers at the Punisher’s distant figure. To Matt’s surprise, Frank raises a hand back.

“We should send him something nice,” she muses shakily. Her heart is pounding. She smells like adrenaline and blood and citrus. “Does he like fruit baskets, do you think?”

Matt opens his mouth to suggest the Punisher might not want a fruit basket, thinks about Frank’s iron certainty faltering in the face of one, grins crookedly, and says, “How about an edible arrangement?”

Elektra laughs breathlessly. “You’re right. I’ll see to it.”

Matt allows himself to focus on only Elektra for just a moment. He lets the background noise fade, lets the city go.

“I almost lost you,” he says.

Matt doesn’t care if all the cops in New York are watching (it sounds like they are), if Stick is cataloging this as a weakness (which the old man probably is somehow), if Karen is realizing who Daredevil is (she is) or if Foggy’s heart is shattering as he realizes Matt is leaving him (it is).

Matt nearly lost the one thing that makes him feel more alive than all of them.

“But you didn’t,” Elektra says, reaching out to cup his cheek, her hand touching half flushed skin and half rough Kevlar. “We’re both still here. We survived, Matthew.” 

She pauses. “Now what?”

Matt hears her real question in the beating of her heart.

_Did you mean it?_

__“I believe you suggested London first,” Matt says, and he feels her fierce smile against his lips as she kisses him hard._ _


	2. Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up in a week or so. It's mostly written already so it may be sooner. I'm putting update speed over chapter length for now. No idea how long this will be but there's no end in sight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter/fic! :)  
> (If you do, kudos and comments make my day.)

They run across the rooftops in the opposite direction of Frank. The police spotlight shifts to follow them-- Matt can feel its harsh warmth buzzing across his skin-- but soon enough he and Elektra are far away from the crowds. Karen and Foggy’s heartbeats fade gradually out of his hearing range.

"Do you need anything from your apartment?” Elektra asks him, coming to a halt on the peak of a church. “My bags are packed and in the back of my car.”

Matt tilts his face in her direction incredulously. “Did you predict this?”

“Well, not this specifically. But you do have to admit, Matthew, you tend to attract trouble. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t exactly live an uneventful life.”

“Says the Black Sky,” Matt mutters, and then he winces. “Sorry.”

To his relief, Elektra laughs. “Touche.”

He kisses her, just because he can, just because they’re both alive.

"Meet you outside of my building?” Matt offers after the sound of sirens makes him break away.

“All right. We can take my car to the airport.”

“Be careful,” he tells her, and then he darts off.

\---

Matt hesitates at the foot of the stairs for just a heartbeat too long as he realizes he has no idea why he actually came back. This apartment has been his first home since his dad died, it contains all of his possessions, but he is suddenly acutely aware of how few things here he actually cares about.

He pulls off the helmet slowly and takes off the suit painfully. Cuts, bruises, and two sprained fingers Matt hadn’t noticed before make themselves acutely felt as his adrenaline begins to wear off.

Matt manages to get into one of his suits but doesn’t dare to attempt to put on a tie with his clumsy fingers. He gets his suitcase from the back of his closet and then pauses, at a loss.

_Attachments make you weak_ , he thinks, remembering Stick’s teachings.

Matt vindictively packs a set of his silk sheets.  
The rest of his necessary belongings follow more easily. He’s careful with his suits, less so with his hoodies. And he barely leaves enough room in the (previously) unnecessarily large suitcase for his toiletries.

He only owns a suitcase because of Foggy. Foggy had taken him to all of the Nelson family holiday gatherings. Foggy and the collective Nelson family had insisted Matt stay the night more often than not. The suitcase had been a thrift store purchase, and Foggy had promised it looked classy. Hopefully, Foggy had been telling the truth. Matt needs to look like someone who belongs at Elektra’s side.

(Right now, Foggy and Karen are in Josie’s bar.  
Foggy is getting drunk and adamantly proclaiming that he will only tell her what Matt’s been up to when he has drunk the eel by himself.

Karen is concerned and on her second drink. She's putting the pieces together with the instincts of a reporter. She’s shaken up but not afraid.

After all, she has pepper spray. She’s planning to get a gun.

And she knows now that Daredevil always comes if she calls.)

The suit is folded neatly in the bottom of the suitcase with his clubs stored in the helmet. He hides the mask with socks.

Matt hears the sleek purr of an expensive car approaching his building. He focuses on it and hears Elektra’s breathing, slow and easy.

He folds his cane and leaves it on top of the counter. It rolls into the paper bracelet Stick had left him, which Matt had never worked up the motivation to move.  
Matt calls Foggy. His friend picks up almost immediately.

“Matt--” Foggy starts. Matt cuts him off.

“Foggy, I want you to go through my apartment, okay? Do whatever with it. I want you to have my dad’s boxing gear though. I want you to keep that.”

“You’re leaving,” Foggy says, his voice full of dawning realization through the haze of alcohol.

“Yes. Listen, Foggy…”

Foggy is crying. Matt leans his forehead against the wall of his foyer.

“Foggy,” Matt repeats, hearing his own voice crack on the first syllable. “Listen. This… These years with you? Columbia and that internship and this? Nelson and Murdock? These have been the best years of my life.”

Matt tastes salt as tears roll down his nose. Foggy is sobbing on the other end of the line.

“Avocados at law forever, right buddy?” Foggy chokes out. “It was supposed to be forever. Us and Karen. Damn it Matt, it wasn’t-- we weren’t supposed to just _end like this _!”__

“I know,” Matt says, quietly. “I know, Foggy. I’m so, so sorry, but it has to. I have to go.”

Matt can hear Karen urgently asking Foggy who he’s on the phone with, hears her say _Matt_ , and Matt knows he needs to go. Elektra’s parked in front of his building with the motor idling.

“I just…” Matt’s throat works as he tries to find the words. “Foggy. I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry. For everything. Tell Karen that, too.”

“Stay,” Foggy manages. “Please, Matt, we can work it out, all of it, just… Just stay. Please.”

Matt feels his resolve weaken, feels his grip on the suitcase handle loosen slightly. His fingers throb.

Elektra is humming along to the radio while she puts on lipstick.

“I just need you to know that you made those years, this… you made this the best part of my life. Nelson and Murdock was the best thing I’ve ever had. I’m sorry I ruined all of it.” Matt clears his throat. “Thank you, Foggy,” he says softly. “For everything."

He ends the call and hurls his phone hard at the end of the hallway. Matt hears the screen shatter and the noise of the circuits inside go dead.

Before he opens the door, he drops his glasses to the floor. He steps on them as he walks through the threshold and grinds his heel down.

Matt leaves his glasses twisted and broken in his apartment foyer and takes the elevator down.


	3. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not New York, but it has Elektra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter in a week :)

Matt regrets breaking his glasses in those first few days, when the airports and London itself were almost too foreign and overwhelming for him to navigate. If he had kept the glasses and cane, the transition would have been much less stressful. He almost contemplates buying new ones but then he remembers that he’s not going to hide anymore. 

He hid because he wanted to be a good soldier in Stick’s war. He doesn’t care about any of that anymore.

Elektra buys them tickets to Heathrow Airport while they walk into the airport, her nails clicking slightly against the screen.

“We’ll be in London by one in the afternoon our time, six pm theirs,” she tells him. Then she turns to sweet talk the exhausted United attendant into upgrading them to first class.

Elektra notices his discomfort as they wait in JFK’s long security lines. 

“Second thoughts, Matthew?” She’s teasing him now and he flashes her a faint grin.

“No,” he says. “I’ve never been anywhere close to an airport before, remember? It’s all so…”

He grasps for words. He’s rarely inarticulate, but describing his world on fire is nearly impossible.

“Loud,” he finishes. It’s not quite the right word, but Matt doesn’t think the right word exists. Not for this level of swirling heartbeats and shrieking engines and echoing announcements and crush of--

She takes his hand.

“Focus on me,” she orders him.

Her fingers are warm and slender, her palms and fingertips ridged with callouses from her knives. He can feel the beat of her heart, even and steady. He can smell her perfume, fainter than the overpowering scents around him because she knows how sharp his sense of smell is, citrus and spice and _Elektra_.

Matt pretends he can see what the TSA agent is doing to the passport Elektra gave him. He pays attention to where the people in front of him stop and stands there until they call him forward. He raises his arms like he had heard the others do. Elektra goes in front of him so that his point of focus is an example-- and also, he suspects, to distract the security guards.

They get through security. 

“Private jets are so much easier,” she informs him as they sit by their terminal. 

Matt takes a moment to remind himself that Elektra came from a world where private jets were something relatively common.

“So why not charter one?” 

“Too conspicuous. The Hand will track us, I’m sure, but with fake IDs and nothing as noteworthy as chartering a plane it might take them longer.”

“Ah.” Matt contemplates the reality of a life on the run with an heiress as an orphan out of Hell’s Kitchen.

“I feel like we’re eloping,” he informs her. She laughs and stands up as the flight attendant announces boarding for first class.

“We rather are,” she says. “Better buy me a ring, Matthew.”

He stands there frozen until she tugs him into the line.

“Were you serious?” he asks.

She kisses him, smirking.

He is not remotely reassured.

\---

The airplane is disconcerting for Matt, to say the least, but he keeps hold of Elektra’s hand and manages to drift off uneasily as they cross the Atlantic Ocean.

Matt wakes up as the fasten seatbelt light pings on. Elektra’s head is on his shoulder. Her soft breaths rustle the strands of hair falling on her face.

“Now descending into Heathrow International Airport,” the pilot’s crackly voice announces, and Elektra wakes up with a silent yawn.

She keeps her head on his shoulder, though, and Matt smiles.

\---

They rent a shitty apartment in Soho-- cash, no questions, roof access-- and they do the tourist thing for a while. 

For Matt, it’s his first time outside of New York, and Elektra thrives on showing him the hidden parts of London along with the mainstream ones. 

They tour the Tower of London and Matt jokingly suggests they could climb it, trying to get a picture of the vast building. Elektra actually considers it. She comes to a mass at St. Paul’s Cathedral with him and doesn’t say anything, just sits, but she stays for the whole thing. They explore the city together, hand in hand, and Matt loves it, loves her, but he never really stops feeling like he's missing a limb. 

In New York every sound was familiar-- the traffic, the voices, the buildings, the sirens and screams. In London everything is just different enough that it takes far more effort to filter through it all.

(The first night, Matt slips out onto the roof and tries to let the sounds of his new city become familiar as he perches on the edge of the rooftop. All he does is make himself nauseous, and somewhere deep in the back of his mind Matt wonders if he ever should have left New York.

Then he hears Elektra's slow, even breaths and familiar heartbeat from below, where she's sleeping in their bed on his silk sheets, and Matt knows he would always, always choose her.)

Matt makes it two months before his resolve cracks and he slips into the suit again. The material feels familiar on him in that bone-deep way this city doesn't. He's halfway up the stairs to the roof when Elektra's voice stops him.

"Surely you didn't think you were going without me, Matthew?"

He cocks his head, listening. She's sliding into the clothes she keeps in the back of their closet, the ones that are identical to what she wore back in New York 

"The thought never crossed my mind," he says glibly.

The next afternoon, Elektra informs him with satisfaction that the papers are full of reports of two vigilantes in Soho.

When Matt smiles at her, he lets the devil show through.

She smiles back.


	4. Learning the Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt starts to learn how he and Elektra will be living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd it has been significantly more than a week. Sorry. Sometimes life gets in the way of my plans.  
> I can't promise the next chapter will be out in a week but I'll do my best.   
> I hope you like this update! :)

It takes another month for the Hand to track them down. 

Matt jolts awake to the sound of light footsteps on the roof. He sits up and tilts his head as he counts heartbeats.

“Three on the roof,” Matt murmurs in Elektra’s ear.

Her heartbeat spikes and she rolls out of bed silently with her silky hair trailing after her. Matt takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful she is.

The door to the roof crashes open above them. Matt grabs his clubs and curses his lack of preparation.   
Even in the suit, the Hand’s soldiers are a dangerous opponent. In boxers and an undershirt, he’s going to get cut to shreds.

The first of the Hand jumps from the stairs with his sword raised. Matt sends one club flying at him and charges after it.

\---

He and Elektra win. She stabs all three in the heart, and when he opens his mouth to protest, she tells him, “It’s not like they’ll stay dead or anything, and we can’t have them following us.”

He closes his mouth. She has a point, although he still doesn’t feel right about it.

They stitch up their wounds in the tiny bathroom, strip the apartment with three dead bodies in the living room, wipe down every surface they could have left prints on, and boost a car five blocks away.

“Are we staying in London?” Matt asks, rolling down the passenger window so he can keep track of their location.

“We can,” Elektra answers, not turning her head. “Do you want to?”

Matt thinks about it. He wants to, yes-- London was beginning to become familiar, and Soho needed someone to provide justice when the law could not. 

"Yes. But other cities have places to hide too,” he says.   
She shifts into fourth as they get out of the city.

“I’ve always liked Portugal. How do you feel about Lisbon?” 

Matt isn’t certain, but he thinks he can hear approval and relief in her voice. He’s coming to realize that Elektra is never satisfied with staying still for long, that the relentless buzz of energy under her skin pushes her to run and leave the moment she gets settled.

Matt misses New York, the city streets he knew better than the sound of his own heartbeat, his Church and his apartment, Foggy and Karen and the people who knew to call for Daredevil when no one else was listening.

But leaving Elektra, hiding the suit-- that would have killed him. He feels more alive running across the world with her than he ever had sitting still in New York.

“Lots of places to hide?” Matt asks, resting his hand on Elektra’s as she shifts into fifth.

“Lots.”

“Then let’s see if we can catch a ferry before the sun rises.”

\---

Lisbon lasts for nearly five months. 

Elektra and Matt both speak Spanish, although hers is fairly rudimentary, and they pick up on basic Portuguese fairly quickly. Still, English is common enough that nobody looks twice at them.

Matt takes a week to learn the city-- it’s easier, this time, now that he’s learning how to listen to somewhere that’s not home-- before he asks Elektra if she wants to go out while they’re eating in a hole-in-the-wall cafe.

"Aren’t we already?” Elektra asks, her tone amused.

"Well, yes. But I meant…” he trails off, aware of the many potential eavesdroppers around them.

"I’m only teasing, Matthew. Yes." Her lips peel back in a smile that makes their waiter's heartbeat speed up.  
\---

They’re more careful, this time, because they think the Hand found them in London after the news started reporting on two vigilantes in red and black. Elektra helps Matt cover up the red on the suit that every New Yorker would recognize, she swaps out her favored knives for a less recognizable pair-- but the Hand still comes for them at night on a rooftop bar.

They fight and escape, running across the rooftops of Lisbon until they reach the penthouse apartment the two of them had rented for the month.

"Your turn to choose,” Elektra tells Matt as she rummages through the Maserati’s glove box for the fake IDs she’d commissioned two months ago.

They’re parked in Lisbon Airport with their bags carelessly piled in the back seat and Matt makes his decision as he slams the passenger door shut behind him.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil,” he tells her, and she tosses his bag and passport at him.

“Sao Paulo it is, then.”


	5. No Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happily-ever-after starts becoming questionable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves away pesky timeline details like angry bees*

Sao Paulo lasts for eight months before Elektra gets bored. Matt and Elektra manage to stay out of the news a little longer, to keep their appearances brief and their recognizable outfits under the cover of shadows. Still, Elektra reads about two vigilantes in the news one day and they decide to move.

Elektra suggests, casually, as she stitches up a ragged cut across his bicep, that the two of them should consider switching to less recognizable suits. Matt considers it while she ties off the thread and steals his bottle of whiskey.

“It would make sense,” he admits, pulling his boots off painfully. “But at the same time, how much would that really help?”

She’s silent for a moment. He listens to the sound of her breathing to block out the sound of thudding heartbeats fifteen blocks away.

Even here, on a different continent, in a city so much larger than New York, where he has to concentrate to understand the pleas for help that never quite go away, he still can’t help enough people, do enough good.

“It might keep the Hand off our tail for a while longer.”

“We could stop,” he offers, feigning interest in the bottle of whiskey he’s stolen back. “We don’t have to do this. They’d have a lot more trouble tracking us if we didn’t.”

She laughs quietly, her head thrown back, and he smiles ruefully.

“Matthew, don’t be ridiculous. You need this to live.  _ I  _ need this to live. I couldn’t love you the way I do if we didn’t need to fight to live.”

He hears her heartbeat, usually so well moderated, speed up slightly on the word  _ love _ . He doesn’t comment, just smiles at her.

“In that case, I’d prefer to just keep my suit.”

She kisses his cheek and slips out of the bathroom. Matt can hear in the kitchen making tea-- mint, from the smell-- and he doesn’t let himself think about why he wants the news of two vigilantes to reach New York.

\---

(In New York, The Hand is too busy chasing the Black Sky to bother with the Iron Fist. Danny Rand remains relatively unknown outside of Hell’s Kitchen, the area he’s chosen to protect in the absence of Daredevil.

Wilson Fisk gets placed in custody in a hotel. 

Foggy Nelson runs for DA.

Karen Page has long since stopped paying for an empty apartment.)

Foggy has a Google alert set up for  _ vigilante _ and  _ Daredevil _ . Every time he finds a mention of Matt’s alter ego, he’s caught between fear for his friend and relief that at least Matt’s still alive.

Karen gets her news on Matt from Frank Castle.)

\---

Matt kills for the first time in a back alley in Rio.

They move to Rio de Janeiro in a more leisurely fashion than they had switched cities before. Elektra buys a Porsche, grumbling at how plebeian she feels while Matt chuckles because he’s never even owned a car. They brave the roads and drive east for seven hours or so, Matt’s window cracked for most of it so he can listen to the sounds of the forest and rivers they pass. Elektra tells him his hair is rakishly disheveled and they pull to the side of the road for a while so she can make it even more messy.

Matt likes Rio. It feels a little more like New York to him. A little more wild, a little more alive, with violence seething just under the surface. And with Christ the Redeemer looming over the city, the statue’s arms spread wide in benevolence, he doesn’t feel as lost. Matt misses Father Lantom even more than he’d thought he would. Somehow telling a priest you’ve never met in a language you’ve just learned that you have the devil in you doesn’t work as well.

Most of the people in Rio are Catholics and Matt goes to Mass every Sunday, a habit he’d let slip somewhere between Lisbon and Sao Paulo. Matt is essentially fluent in Portuguese by this point, even if his Spanish is still his best foreign language. He usually stays in the back and he almost always slips out the doors to meet Elektra before Communion.

Elektra hasn’t spent as much time here as in Europe, so when they explore the city, they do it together. They can pass quite easily as a tourist couple here for the summer from Europe with Elektra’s exotic accent and the way Matt’s Portuguese has a hint of Lisbon in it.

Matt asks Elektra if they’re set for money after he hears a young man propose in a park.

“It only just occurred to you to ask, Matthew?”

He gives a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I am on the run with an heiress, I’m not the brains of the operation. I just thought I should check for when I divorce you and disappear with my younger lover.”

She laughs. Matt savors the sound. Elektra’s real laugh is always a little surprised, a little husky, sweet and secret.

She takes a sip of her wine-- he’d checked that the cafe they’re in was sanitary-- and asks, “Why are you asking?”

Matt has several answers to that. He decides to go with the truth.

“I want to buy you a ring. I wasn’t sure if that fit into the budget.”

The slight fluctuation in the beat of Elektra’s heart is the only sign she gives of her surprise. Matt tries not to feel nervous. It doesn’t really matter, getting married. They’re already closer than any kind of formal bond could make them and he’s never going to leave. Perhaps it’s the Catholic angst returning.

_ It doesn’t matter if she says no, _ Matt tells himself yet again. Still, Elektra’s hesitation is giving him a measure of anxiety.

“I have a few hundred million in investments and banks,” Elektra informs him flatly. Matt chokes on a sip of water. While he’s coughing, she adds, “I’ll marry you, by the way, as long as you do a good job with the ring.”

Matt doubts he presents an attractive picture, out of breath with water on his shirt, but Elektra kisses him anyway.

\---

He kills a man the first time he and Elektra go out in Rio de Janeiro.

“It wasn’t murder,” Elektra reassures him as she washes his hair in the shower, the nameless man’s body left in the alley to rot along with Matt’s soul. 

_“_ You killed him for me,” she reminds him, her lips an inch from his, and all Matt can think is _I wonder if Frank would be proud of me._


	6. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt goes to confession for the first time since New York.

Matt doesn't leave the apartment the next day. Or the next. He doesn’t really move beyond what Elektra pushes him to do, just sits on the couch and tries not to think or pray.

After the third day of silence, Elektra drags him out of the apartment, into the car, and then into the church that's a couple blocks from their apartment. 

“You don't have anything to feel sorry for,” she says, and Matt doesn't tell her that he has everything to feel sorry for but somehow he still can't regret choosing her.

He slides into the confession booth and “bless me, Father, for I have sinned” rolls off his tongue smooth even though he's never said it in Portuguese before. It's the first time he's spoken since that night.

“Tell me what you've done, my child,” says the priest, not Father Lantom but close enough. 

Matt opens his mouth intending to obfuscate, but what he says is the bare truth.

“I killed a man for threatening to rape my wife.” 

The priest is silent for a long moment. 

“He had a gun on her,” Matt says. “And the worst part is, father, I can't bring myself to regret it. Well, not defending her. I do regret killing him.”

The priest’s heart is beating faster than it was when Matt walked in and Matt almost feels sorry for him. 

“Son,” the father says, his words hesitating, “I can't grant you forgiveness unless you go to the police and confess what you've done.”

And in another life, in another city, if Matt had killed someone, maybe he would have done that. But all he can think of is the way Elektra sings when she thinks she's alone and she's taking a shower. 

“That's okay, father,” Matt says, feeling the weight of guilt on his shoulders settle with the finality of a deadbolt slamming home. “I can't do that. So you don't have to forgive me.”

He goes out to the car where Elektra’s waiting, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel. 

“Are you going to be useful now?” she asks. Her voice might be worried. It might be condescending.

Matt wants to be angry. He wants to be able to leave her. Instead he slams his door shut and says, “I’m not killing anyone else. Not even for you. You know that, right?” 

Elektra pulls out into the street and doesn't respond.

They’ve never been tender, but that night Matt leaves bruises on her wrists. He feels terrible about it the next morning. She just smiles and kisses him.

“We going out tonight?” She asks him, and he nods.

He doesn’t feel alive without this, without the suit, without her. But he almost wonders if this is still life.

\---

(In New York, Foggy doesn't connect an unremarkable, unreported murder in Rio de Janeiro to his friend. But if he had, he might have remembered saying _you go after him in the mask again, he'll kill you, or you'll kill him! Which given how Catholic you are would probably have the same effect!_

On a different continent, Matt kneels on a roof and prays to the figure of Christ the Redeemer for forgiveness for what he's done and for what he's about to do. And if he would have let himself think about the people he has left behind, he would have remembered Foggy’s words and he would have laughed bitterly.)

\---

(In Chicago, Frank doesn’t connect the dots either. But if he had, he might have remembered saying you’re _one bad day away from being me_ , and he might have even regretted hitting a little too close to home.)


	7. Forming a Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt will remember Rio as a city of change and blood and danger, of silent arguments and unsaid apologies. For all that it reminds him of New York, he will never want to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Julia_Fractal who made my entire week with their enthusiasm about Matt/Elektra fic and this fic in particular.
> 
> Also: for someone who’s done martial arts for so long I suck at writing fight scenes. Sorry.

Rio lasts for two more months. Matt doesn’t kill anyone else when they go out and he goes to Mass every day he can. Elektra scoffs every time he does. The nights the two of them don’t go out in the suits Elektra dances with strangers in nightclubs whose hearts beat far too fast when she brushes up against them. 

Elektra kills two murderers in an alley and Matt takes off for a few days. He comes back with a bullet graze along his ribs and a bottle of rum.

Matt will remember Rio as a city of change and blood and danger, of silent arguments and unsaid apologies. For all that it reminds him of New York, he will never want to go back.

\---

The Hand finds them on a crowded street in the afternoon. Matt doesn’t hear them coming, mostly because it’s nearly impossible to listen for the absence of sound and also, perhaps foolishly, because he hadn’t expected the Hand to come for them so openly.

He still doesn’t like crowds. They make him uneasy. Too much input, too much stimulus, too much potential for something to go wrong that he can’t isolate. Running with Elektra, he’s gotten more accustomed to being surrounded by people, but he doubts he’ll ever be entirely comfortable with it. As much as he hated his cane and what it meant, people are much less considerate of his space if they don’t think he’s blind.

Matt and Elektra are two blocks from their apartment when Matt hears the sound of a blade being unsheathed. There’s no time for him to warn Elektra. He throws himself in between her and the threat, desperately trying to home in on the sound of the soldier’s heartbeat amidst the swirling roar of people.

He get his forearm up and against the arm holding the knife. Matt spares a brief prayer of thanks for the fact that the Hand’s soldier is holding a knife and not a sword-- not much you can do in a crowd with a longer blade besides try to limit collateral damage.

Matt catches the soldier’s wrist in his left hand, the soldier’s fist in the other, and twists his right hand down and to the right. It’s an inelegant wrist lock that Stick would no doubt harshly critique but it works well enough. The soldier lets go of the knife after Matt hears three ligaments tear in his hand. 

Elektra is panting behind him, struggling with another of the Hand, and Matt doesn’t stop to think, just shoves the knife into the throat of the soldier in front of him and moves to help her.

They sprint back to the apartment, dodging people and ignoring their startled cries. Miraculously, neither of them is hurt so they start packing immediately. Matt’s got his hurried packing down to a science.

Matt is folding the only hoodie that’s survived since New York when he realizes there’s still blood on his hands. 

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

Elektra carefully folds the dress she’s holding and places it in her suitcase before she stands with a nearly-silent sigh and comes to sit beside him. She interlaces her fingers with his and Matt throws up again.

“Matthew,” Elektra says after he’s stopped heaving, “Are you all right?”

For some reason, Matt finds her question hilarious. He laughs silently, tears running down his face, until he’s gasping for breath, rocking on the tile floor with Elektra’s hand tightening around his own until it hurts.

\---

“You can leave, you know,” Elektra tells him on the flight to Mumbai. Her tone is casual and her heart is hammering in her chest.

Matt considers that.

He could leave. He could go back to New York, or London, or Lisbon, or he could go somewhere else entirely, somewhere no one had even heard of Daredevil. He could go back to his old life or start another one altogether. Elektra would let him. 

He could go back to Father Lantom and try to earn forgiveness for his sins, he could move to Rome and go to Mass every day, he could do anything. He could leave Elektra behind and try to return to the person he had been, the man who had thrown everything into a fight against Frank Castle for a criminal’s life, the man who had believed everyone was worth saving.

Matt thinks back to how it had felt to leave for a few days. Remembers how it had been when she had vanished back in college, how Nobu had come so close to killing her and destroying him. 

“I could,” he agrees. “But I never will.”

Elektra doesn’t say anything in return but all of the tension drains out of her shoulders. Matt takes her hand and rubs his thumb along the back of her hand.

\---

(Matt and Elektra are in Kolkata by the time Frank gets wind of the two dead bodies in Rio. His contact sends him a report and it includes a police sketch of the two suspects.

Frank stares at the printouts for a long moment. 

“Damn it, Red,” he murmurs to his empty apartment. Max lifts his head from his paws briefly and then went back to sleep.

Frank knows that he should feel triumph, maybe vindication or pride. Instead he’s pretty sure he’s feeling something like sadness.

He was planning to head to Shanghai next, but he books the next flight to New York. )


	8. Silk, Sickness, and Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is sleep deprived. Please excuse any inaccuracies.  
> Also, feedback feeds the muses! :)

Matt’s last hoodie gets left in a dumpster in Rio. Most of what’s in his suitcase when he rummages through it in Kolkata is suits. Every few months Elektra has been taking him shopping. He tells her which fabrics don’t aggravate his senses and she tells him which ones look good. The suitcase Foggy had made him buy in law school had been discarded back in London, replaced by a larger, sleeker one Elektra had found for him at Harrods.

For the most part, he doesn’t mind that. A selfish part of Matt likes the luxury more than he should. To a possibly sinful extent. Stick would lecture Matt about being soft. Father Lantom would carefully ask about Matt’s attachments to earthly possessions. 

Elektra laughs at his “Catholic hangups” and buys him silk ties. She seems determined to make him get used to living in luxury, and the part of him that thought about staying at Landman and Zach, the same part that had thrived on stealing sports cars, relaxes into it with disturbing ease. 

He’d been an underpaid defense lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen wearing cheap suits and trying to repair the furniture Stick broke with borrowed tools, sweating through the backs of his shirts in his unairconditioned office, trying to keep his clients out of jail on almost zero income. Before that, he’d been a kid on a scholarship in Columbia, an angry teenager in and out of foster homes and the orphanage, a blind kid learning Braille in a boxing gym.

Matt’s still the orphan who grew up in a Catholic Hell’s Kitchen orphanage and Elektra’s still the murderess who grew up in an ambassador’s family, and there are an infinite amount of subtle discrepancies in what they expect. Still, Elektra is just as capable of living in less than ideal circumstances as he is-- Matt doesn’t ask but he guesses it’s another thing she’s retained from Stick. When they get to Kolkata he expects it to be a little rougher than their usual places but otherwise fine.

Kolkata doesn’t last long. 

Matt forgets about the tap water on the fifth day, uses the faucet to get his toothbrush wet, and gets sicker than he’s been in years. Elektra somehow finds him a few pairs of sweatpants and a few hoodies that are ridiculously comfortable. Matt is pathetically grateful for them.

“Maybe we should stick to more developed cities for a while,” he croaks miserably to Elektra. She hums and strokes his back comfortingly as he doubles over again.

“I’ll book a flight for France once you’re feeling better.”

“Paris?”

“Mmm. It’s not my favorite city, but there are lots of places to hide. Marseille is just a little too small.”

Matt thinks that over as he tries to catch his breath.

“Didn’t you want to go to Tunisia?”

“We might want to work on your Arabic first, if we want to blend in. But yes.”

“How many languages do you  _ speak _ ?”

Matt hears her counting under her breath. He’s pretty sure it’s for effect.

“Six.”

“Your Spanish doesn’t count, it’s horrible.”

“Fine, then. Just five. Portuguese, Arabic, French, Japanese, and Mandarin. My adopted father was very insistent I be able to take on all of his business dealings without a translator. And of course, we learned Portuguese together.”

“Mine is still better than yours.”

He hears her stick her tongue out at him.

“Show-off. Not all of us have such a talented tongue, Matthew.” 

Matt might have shown her exactly how talented his tongue was on all counts if his stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to rebel again.

“Right, not the time,” Elektra sighs, and she returns to rubbing soothing circles over his spine.

They settle on Madrid as their next destination. Matt’s Spanish is smooth enough to blend in well, even if it is more Central American in its inflections. Elektra’s Spanish improves rapidly, a fact she delights in. 

Matt tells her, quite seriously, that if she picks up a Barcelona accent, he will never speak to her again. She switches his coffee to decaf in retaliation. He notices the difference in the smell and makes his own coffee. 

They’re sprawled side by side in their living room-- they’re renting a house this time-- when Matt proposes. He’d had a vague plan revolving around beaches and fancy dinners, but he can feel bruises forming from their sparring match and he knows his hair’s a mess and somehow this is really what he wants from her, not something other people would call picture-perfect.

“Where’s my diamond ring?” Elektra demands, smiling, still out of breath. “I need to see my ring before I make a decision.” Matt rolls his eyes.

“It’s in my closet, I’m just not invested enough to go get it.”

She stands up and, by the sounds of it, absolutely destroys his closet before emerging triumphant with the velvet box in her hand. She hands it to him. “Here. Get on with it.”

Matt gets up onto one knee, muttering under his breath. He opens the ring box and hears her small intake of breath, which he interprets to mean that he did okay.

“Elektra, will you--”

“Of course, you moron.”

They don’t leave the house for a while.

“The problem is,” Matt says thoughtfully, his arm around Elektra’s bare shoulders, “Catholic weddings require witnesses.”

“So we grab some strangers off the streets.”

Matt chuckles. “That’s called kidnapping. I should know.”

“I’d let them go,” she protests. 

They lie in silence for a while. Matt’s drifting off when Elektra suddenly sits upright and says, “I bet Frank Castle would look great in a suit.”

Matt groans and buries his face in his pillow. “I’m electing to ignore that statement. Let’s kidnap some random passerby.”

“I thought that was illegal, Counsel?” She asks sweetly.

“It’s not too late to return the ring,” he threatens. She laughs.


	9. Wedding Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Elektra get married in a small Catholic Church. The stolen Bugatti that gets them there is a nice bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been up since three am and I’ve had five cups of coffee. If you notice anything especially off/weird, that’s probably why.  
> Credit to Richard Kadrey for the idea of throwing car keys to a kid. 
> 
> In series news, I’m going to write a crack excerpt sometime within the next week or so. It will contain Frank Castle giving a best man’s speech and Stick walking Elektra down the aisle. I’ll post it as the second part of this series (Glimpses Through the Mirror.) 
> 
> Hope you like this chapter!

They get married in a small church in Cadiz, a small, old port city along the Southern part of Spain. It takes six hours to get there, but Elektra is insistent that if they actually put any accurate information on the marriage certificate then they can’t do it in the same city that they’re living in. She also doesn’t want to risk having to fight in a wedding dress. 

Matt doesn’t mind. The drive isn’t as enjoyable as their trip across Brazil, since Spain is much more industrialized, but he still likes the Spanish countryside.

“You’re like a dog,” Elektra tells him. “I can’t have you in the car without rolling the window down because you get disappointed.”

Matt, like the Columbia graduate he is, sticks his tongue out at her. It’s true, admittedly, but he still feels insulted.

“This isn’t even your car, it’s the local crime lord’s.” 

Elektra had been appalled by the low number on the odometer when they’d broken into his house last night. 

“It’s a crime to keep such a beautiful car locked up,” she’d told him, and, well, Matt had never been able to refuse her much of anything.

Besides, she’d dragged him into the backseat before he could protest. 

He’d had sex in far less comfortable places. The upholstery is nice.

It’s a nice car. The man who owns it is considerably less so. In the month and a half Matt and Elektra have been in Madrid they’ve been making his life considerably more difficult. Stealing his Bugatti is just another gesture intended to antagonize him.

Matt wears his nicest suit and Elektra wears a sleek dress with a long train. She tells him it’s white and beautiful. Matt presumes she’s telling the truth.

He stands at the altar by the priest’s side and listens to her skirt brush towards him down the aisle with what he’s sure is an idiotic grin on his face. Matt had told Father Garcia he and Elektra were new to the country and had no one to attend the wedding-- true, as far as that went- so the priest had asked his Sunday morning congregation for volunteers to attend. Three elderly people show up, which is more than enough for Matt.

Their rings are matching titanium bands. They're black so they don’t reflect light and reveal their positions.

Matt kisses Elektra when Father Garcia tells him to and feels more settled than he ever has outside of the suit or the courtroom.

(A lifetime ago, Foggy had extracted a promise from Matt that he would be Matt’s best man, and Matt would be his. Matt tries not to think about that, tries not to think about the people he would have invited in a different world. )

(Marcy plans her wedding in her sleek apartment in New York. Her fiance, recently elected DA Nelson, stays out of her way because he has a healthy fear of her planning abilities.

Foggy remembers that promise and feels Matt’s absence just as keenly as he did two years ago.)

Elektra and Matt are married under their current fake names on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday. They spend a few weeks traveling around Spain to try to forestall the Hand’s inevitable attack a while longer.

Elektra tosses the keys to the Bugatti to a street kid in Barcelona, the first city they stop in. When Matt asks why she shrugs.

“I wanted to see if there was any life left in his eyes.”

“And was there?”

“There was curiosity, so I think so.”

Matt fiddles with his wedding band and remembers Santino, remembers all the other kids with no hope he’d done his best to save. “You think he’ll be able to pawn it, at least?”

Elektra snorts. “Ever the saint.”

Matt doesn’t respond. 

Elektra takes his hand and guides him across an uneven street.

(In New York, Frank pauses outside of the doors of Clinton Church. 

He hasn’t been inside a church since he shipped out. He doesn’t have much faith in a higher power, in God, in whatever gave Red his stubborn moral conviction.

Red wore a cross. Frank wears dog tags. 

Red’s started killing people. Red’s finally seeing common sense. Red’s somewhere in Europe at the moment, giving out his version of justice with his terrifying whirlwind of a girl.

Frank doesn’t owe Red a goddamn thing. 

He walks through the doors anyway. There’s a priest behind the altar who turns when he hears Frank’s boots click on the floor.

“How may I help you, my son?” Father Lantom asks, his welcoming smile turning to wariness as he recognizes Frank’s face.

“It’s about Murdock,” Frank tells him.)


	10. Honeymoons and Hospitals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zero to sixty realllll fast here y'all.  
> The crack oneshot will be another week or so due to life. Updates of this fic should continue to be every Tuesday failing... you know. Life.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

Matt and Elektra get home around one in the morning. Elektra would have been happy to stay on the move but Matt needs to take care of a city so she doesn’t argue when he suggests they return to Madrid.

Matt insists on carrying Elektra through the door of their house. She laughs into his ear the whole time. Matt manages to keep a straight face through pure willpower. 

He carefully places her on their bed, leans over her, and whispers, “Mrs. Murdock?”

He cracks up at the noise of disgust she makes.

“Yes, Mr. Natchios?” She asks sweetly. Matt winces.

“Ready to begin your life as a married woman?”

Elektra shifts her weight and Matt lets her flip him onto his back.

“Well, seeing as we’re on a honeymoon for the rest of our lives,” she murmurs.

They’re kissing when Matt hears the screams.

He sits up hurriedly. On top of him, Elektra sighs. 

“Well, it was a nice break while it lasted,” she says, and she straps on her knives.

Five hours later as Matt sits in a hospital waiting room, his bloodied fists curled around the chair armrests, Matt wishes he had just ignored the screaming. 

“She’s in surgery, Mr. Santos,” a doctor tells Matt solemnly. The doctor smells like sanitizer and antiseptics and Elektra's blood. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have news.”

He nods tightly, not trusting his voice. One definite benefit to being married is his undisputed right to be updated by the hospital staff.

_ If she dies-- _

He cuts himself off.

She won’t. Elektra is too extraordinary to die from a gunshot.

“Excuse me,” he calls after the doctor. She turns. Matt tries to look unassuming. He knows the way his eyes don’t focus is unnerving to most people but wearing sunglasses inside is rather noticeable. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be out of surgery?”

The doctor takes a moment to think, which Matt appreciates. He despises platitudes and empty reassurances. “I would imagine it will be a few hours.”

“Thank you.” Even now, he clings to his veneer of civility.

The next few hours are some of the most painful of his life. All he can think of is the sound Elektra had made when the bullet hit her instead of the girl behind her-- a soft, pained inhale-- and the blood.

“Your wife is out of surgery and stable, Mr. Santos. We can’t promise anything but it looks like she’ll pull through. If all goes well, you'll be able to see her in a few days.”

“Thank you,” Matt breathes.

He waits ten minutes before he leaves. Matt walks back to the alley Elektra had been shot in and finds his suit beneath a crate. He pulls it on.

It smells like Elektra’s blood.

Matt climbs up the alley wall and crouches at the edge of the building’s roof. It isn’t as tall as he would like, but it will work.

He listens. 

He finds the man who had shot Elektra after seven minutes. 

It’s harder than it was in New York-- it’s always more difficult than it was in New York-- but all Matt has to do is remember Elektra murmuring lowly to him, keeping him centered like she had when the Hand took Karen.

The minute he finds the man’s heartbeat, Matt starts across the rooftops towards it.

The man is holed up in his apartment with the door barred, as though that will save him. 

Matt comes in through the man’s window. 

“Fuck!” the man shouts, going for the gun he used to shoot Matt’s wife.

Matt knocks it out of his hand and hurls him into the wall.

He lets the devil out.

It takes two and a half minutes for Matt to beat the man to death. 

After the man’s heart finally stops, Matt stands over the body panting, his lips curled back in his devil’s smile.

Matt goes home, takes a shower, leaves his suit in the bathtub, and goes back to the hospital. 

He leaves his cross at the house.


	11. Visiting Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 85% sure I have been cursed by someone who hates actual update schedules. Sorry. It took a while to switch some meds and also to realize that I can’t study and write fic at the same time.
> 
> On that note, does anyone have a preference for longer chapters every few weeks or shorter chapters every week? Longer ones would be more reliable but obviously shorter ones would be faster.
> 
> I have never been shot, in a Spanish hospital, or any combination thereof. Please forgive any inaccuracies/attribute them to Marvel.

Elektra wakes up around noon the following day. Realistically, Matt knew she would probably be fine-- there had been internal bleeding, but the bullet hadn’t ruptured any internal organs. Still, when the doctor comes out to tell him, he has to take a moment to just breathe.

He is reluctantly grateful when the doctor escorts him to Elektra’s room. As limited as the ADA had been in some respects, Spain has no requirements for Braille. Matt could find Elektra’s heartbeat on the other side of Madrid, but trying to track down the exact door may have been embarrassingly difficult.

The doctor tells them that Elektra will likely be well enough to be released within a week or so and quietly takes her leave.

Elektra’s heartbeat is slow and she smells of blood and antiseptics. Matt hates the smell of hospitals, but beneath it she still smells like spice and citrus and herself. It keeps him grounded.

Matt pulls a chair up to Elektra’s bed and collapses into it, letting his forehead fall against the rails of the bed. 

“I almost lost you,” he whispers, remembering a New York rooftop a lifetime ago. “I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” Elektra says, and she takes one of his hands in her own, even though Matt can hear the tension on the IV.

Matt should be the one comforting his wife. But as the relief hits him, she strokes his hair while he tries to keep his sobs quiet.

“Did you kill him?” She asks after Matt swipes the last of his tears away with his suit sleeve.

Matt raises his head and sits up straight. He keeps her hand held tightly between his.

“Of course,” he replies, bracing for condemnation.

She hums. 

“What?”

“It’s just that you lost me rather than kill a murderer, once.”

Matt can’t dispute that. Ten years ago it would have destroyed him to kill. 

Even now he can feel the bones of the man’s face cracking beneath his fists and he feels the stirring of old, sick guilt in his stomach. Father Lantom would be appalled at him. 

Hell, Matt is appalled at himself.  _ Thou shalt not kill _ was the only line he had left for so long as Hell’s Kitchen vigilante. He had always believed that it was one of the worst sins one could commit because it snuffed out all the potential of a human life as carelessly as blowing out a candle.

He committed a mortal sin. He damned himself the moment he snapped a man’s neck in a Rio alley. 

But he can still feel Elektra’s blood on his hands, still hear her shallow inhales and her shaky whisper of  _ Matthew _ .

“That was a long time ago,” he says at last. 

Elektra drifts off to sleep not long after. Matt dozes uneasily in the chair, half his mind occupied with listening to her breathe, the other half already planning their next trip.

Visiting hours come to an end at ten. Matt uses his, to quote Foggy, wounded handsome duck appeal, and manages to gain permission to stay overnight.

“She’s my wife,” he tells the nurse, letting all of his fear and love show on his face. “We just got married a month ago. She’s all I have. I’m sorry, but can you… Could you maybe make an exception?

Matt knows that this nurse must hear the same plea regularly. Still, she heaves a sigh and tells him she’ll just ignore his presence.

He thanks her profusely.

“Just don’t cause any trouble,” she says. Matt hopes he won’t. Somehow trouble seems to follow him everywhere, even on the rare occasions when he’s not actively seeking it out.

The Hand come in through the window of Elektra’s room not long after. The sound of their rappelling down the side of the building wakes Matt up in time for him to get Elektra up and into an elevator.

“Where to next?” she asks breathlessly. Matt adjusts his grip around her waist and winces as she gasps in pain. 

“I was thinking we could try Italy,” he says, tilting his head as he listens to the soldiers running down the hospital stairways “Rome, maybe Milan. Italian is basically just exaggerated Spanish, right?”

She huffs out a laugh and then groans. “Don’t make me laugh, Matthew. Italy sounds wonderful. We can go to Greece afterwards.”

“I can understand the dialogue in the Godfather, so I’m not wrong,” he mutters. The elevator begins to slow and he helps her lean against a corner.

“Well, I can speak a decent amount of Greek, so we’re set for a Mediterranean tour.”

“You can--?” Matt begins indignantly.

The elevator dings. The doors begin to open.

“Hold that thought.”

Luckily, there are only two members of the Hand in the hospital. Matt presumes Elektra’s latest set of fake IDs managed to keep them from looking too suspicious.

As he half-carries Elektra out a back door, he wonders if he should be concerned that murder gets easier every time he does it.

Like most worries, it pales in comparison to the thought of losing Elektra. If he has to lose his soul to keep them away from the Hand, so be it.

Matt gets the two of them three blocks away from the hospital and the two dead bodies before realizing that Elektra can’t hotwire and steal a car like she usually does.

“Public transportation and open wounds,” he mutters. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“We’re not taking a bus to Italy,” Elektra tells him sternly.

“I was thinking a train,” he says helpfully.


	12. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Elektra meet someone familiar in Milan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might actually be some semblance of a plot? Say what?  
> On an unrelated note: if I had a dollar for every time I typed ‘Matt’ and then had to replace it with ‘Red’ in this chapter I’d be, if not rich, at least moderately affluent. Hopefully I got Frank’s voice right. He’s definitely a different narrator than Matt.  
> Also, inserting a little self-promotion: I wrote and posted a crack excerpt for this fic and also a character study of Foggy if you're interested.  
> As always, thanks for reading and feedback makes my day :)

Frank tracks Red and Elektra across Europe with CCTV footage Frank trades a favor to get hacked. It isn’t hard to find out where they were running from-- dead ninjas in a hospital lobby tend to make the news. 

He loses track of them once they get to the Milan train station, but Frank is confident that he can find them.

Five days later as Red beats the shit out of a couple morons with handguns, Frank maintains he was right. It might have taken an attempted mugging but he did find Red and his girl.

“Frank,” Red greets, panting, his head tilted sideways. He’s still got that stupid helmet on. 

Elektra doesn’t even dignify Frank with any signs of acknowledgment. She’s scanning the alley for threats, even though Frank’s pretty sure Red would have seen-- or heard, or whatever it is that he does-- anything.

“What are you doing here?” Red asks. 

“Looking for you.”

“You here to kill us?” Red is tense, ready to fight or run.

Frank snorts. Leave it to Red to be expectantly waiting to be martyred. “Nah. If you needed to be killed you’d already have a bullet through your skulls.”

“Matt?” Elektra asks, her dark eyes locked on Frank.

“He’s telling the truth.”

“I’ve got a message from Lantom,” Frank adds as an afterthought.

Red’s focus is entirely on Frank. Frank represses the urge to shift uncomfortably.

“This isn’t the place to have this conversation,” Elektra says, pulling the mask over her lower face down. “Let’s go back to the apartment.”

Red twitches his chin towards Frank. Elektra rolls her eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure he could find us either way, and he’s not here to kill us.”

“She’s right,” Frank said. “I had it narrowed down to your general neighborhood already anyway.”

Red mutters something about unnecessarily compromising bases and gives in somewhat sulkily.

Frank feels an obscure pang of pain at Red’s interaction with his girl. It reminds him of how Maria could convince him to do just about anything with only a stern look.

“Nice place,” Frank comments, looking around the apartment Elektra had led them to. If he’s a little out of breath from following the two maniacs across rooftops at breakneck speed they’re nice enough not to mention it. 

It is a nice apartment. Frank’s not one for art or design or any of that shit but the grey and blue colors go together well.

Somehow he suspects that was Elektra’s influence and not Red’s. 

Red and Elektra disappear to change out of their flashy suits. Frank has never understood why they do that. If it keeps you from getting stabbed or shot that’s what it’s meant to do. Looking dramatic isn’t the point. He says as much when Red and Elektra get back into the living room.

“Shoes off the coffee table,” Elektra tells him.

Simultaneously, Red says, “We’re not the ones spray-painting a skull onto our chests to go out and murder people.”

Frank places his boots back onto the carpet. He feels vaguely guilty about that, too. 

“At least it’s only a skull and not horns.”

Red visibly restrains his instinctive response. 

“You said you had a message from Father Lantom?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you hurt him?” Red growls.

“The fuck do you take me for? No, Red, I didn’t hurt an innocent priest.” 

Frank finds himself to be honestly insulted. Even if he doesn’t believe in any all-powerful person in the sky, he has a grudging admiration for people who do. He’d served beside enough chaplains with spines and faiths of steel to respect the fuck out of priests.

It was Red’s self-doubting, wishy-washy beliefs that annoyed Frank. Either commit to justice or don’t. You were either a servant of God or a thug with vigilante tendencies. Pick one.

“You are a mass murderer,” Red tells him. “Forgive me for having my doubts.”

“You’re shacking up with a killer and racking up quite the kill count yourself. Ain’t there some sort of Bible story about throwing stones?”

Elektra smiles thinly. For the second time this night Frank feels his skin prickling with uncertainty.

Frank waits for Red’s righteous indignation and protests. To his surprise, it doesn’t come.

“What’s the message?” Red asks quietly.

Frank doesn’t let his confusion show. “Not sure. It’s a recording on my phone. You want to listen to it now, or…?”

“Yeah,” Red says. “Yeah, I want to hear it.”


	13. Messages from the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters should continue to be every Tuesday. (Knock on wood.)  
> Also: Frank will be back. In what I have outlined he’s pretty important towards the end.  
> (There’s something approaching an actual planned plot now and it’s terrifying. Blech.)
> 
> If you’ve got time and feel inclined, I love hearing from you guys. Comments make me happy and give me motivation :)

Matt hears Frank open his phone and tap the screen a few times. Father Lantom’s voice comes through the speaker. 

It’s not a perfect recording by any means, but it’s enough to make Matt feel like he’s sitting in the confession booth in Clinton Church. He feels the lack of the cross around his neck keenly.

“ _ Hello, Matthew _ ,” Father Lantom says. “ _ I am recording this because I have faith in you and your soul. _ ”

Frank and Elektra snort nearly in unison. Matt doesn’t bother to rise to the bait.

“ _ Mr. Castle tells me that you have lost your way _ ,” Father Lantom continues.

“I believe my exact words were something more like ‘Murdock’s taken up murder as a side hobby,’ but close enough,” Frank mutters.

“ _ I pray that he is wrong, but somehow I don’t think he is. He does not seem the kind of man who would lie without cause. Perhaps he is not a godly man, but I do believe that even despite his… hobbies, he tries to be a good man in his own way.” _

From the heat coming from Frank’s face, Matt guesses Frank is blushing. 

“ _ I digress. _ ” Father Lantom clears his throat. 

“ _ He has promised to get this to you, so I am trusting him. I don’t know much about what happened on that rooftop two years ago but I’ve gathered that you found Elektra again and had to leave the city. _ ”

“You told him about me?” Elektra asks Matt, sounding flattered.

“You’re the only thing besides God I’ve ever had faith in. Of course I did.”

“Matthew,” Elektra breathes.

Frank coughs uncomfortably. “Still in the room, guys.”

“ _ I know how much she means to you, son. _ ” 

Father Lantom sighs. 

“ _ I would never blame you for who you love. But I know you well enough to know that this path you’re going down will destroy you if you follow it. _ ”

The three of them are silent.

“ _ No one is ever beyond saving, Matt. Not even a killer. Not even Daredevil. Remember that. And remember that I pray for you every night. _ ”

The recording ends abruptly.

“That’s all I have from Lantom,” Frank tells Matt. He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Well, he did say he had a fantastic espresso machine any time I wanted to talk, but I think that was separate.”

“Yeah, he says that when he’s trying to recruit people,” Matt says. 

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Father Lantom’s voice has stirred up feelings of homesickness he thought he left somewhere between Lisbon and Sao Paulo. Matt hasn’t been in a church since Rio but he suddenly aches for the reassuring rituals and structure and certainty that Mass provides.

Matt wants to go home. 

“Well, I’ve got to get to Shanghai,” Frank says, standing. “Been putting off some business in China.”

“By business you mean killing people?” Matt clarifies.

“Yep. Bad ones, though, so don’t worry too much about it, altar boy. Former altar boy. Whatever.”

Frank is halfway to the door when Matt blurts, “Thanks, Frank.”

“Any time, Red. Well. Maybe not any time, but hey, you dragged me out of that Irish hellhole and saved Max. I owe you one.”

“You saved us on that rooftop, though,” Elektra points out.

“Don’t work like that. Once someone saves your ass you owe them forever.”

Frank pauses in the apartment doorway.

“See ya around, Red.”

Matt taps two fingers to his temple in a salute.

“Bye, Frank,” Elektra calls.

“Pleasure as always, Elektra,” Frank says, and then he’s headed down the stairs. Matt loses track of his footsteps once Frank gets out onto the street.

“Do you and the Punisher know each other from something?” Matt asks Elektra.

“I don’t believe so. He just recognizes a lady when he sees one.”

Matt shakes his head. “You’re a lot of things, Mrs. Murdock, but a lady isn’t one.”

She shoves him off of the couch.

Matt stays awake a long time after Elektra falls asleep that night. 

He misses New York more acutely than he has since those first few weeks in London. He has gotten used to navigating unfamiliar cities, but no matter where he goes, he can’t escape the nagging feeling that he’s missing something.

New York is his home. It’s where he belongs.

But Matt belongs next to Elektra, holding her hand as they run across the world. He’s made his decision and he doesn’t regret it.

Father Lantom’s words won’t stop running through his head.

_ No one is ever beyond saving. _

The problem is, Matt isn’t sure if he believes that anymore.

He let the devil out on a man who, if there’s any justice in the universe, if there’s any kind of god who gives a shit, is going to burn in hell. He wouldn’t take back that decision any more than he would take back the one he made two years ago, even knowing everything being the man in the mask would cost.

Some people are beyond saving and not everyone deserves redemption. Matt isn’t sure if he’s one of those people, but he knows that everyone he’s ever beaten within an inch of their life, every person he’s killed, was.

Matt’s starting to get what Frank was trying to get him to see all those times they tried to get in each other’s way.

_ No one is ever beyond saving _ , Father Lantom reminds Matt.

_ But maybe I don’t want to be saved anymore. Maybe I just want to do what’s right. _

Sleep is slow to come, even wrapped around Elektra.


	14. St. Michael the Archangel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! It’s amazing how starting before the day I post helps...  
> Disclaimer: I was raised Roman Catholic but now avoid church like the plague due to moral and personal reasons. Also, I’m not Italian.  
> I tried to keep Matt’s conversations with the priest in keeping with the show.  
> Will I let Matt stay happy for more than one chapter? Doubtful.

“I’m going to confession,” Matt tells Elektra the moment she wakes up. He pulls his cross over his head.

She yawns and stretches. Matt carefully runs his hand across the still-forming scar of her bullet wound and, satisfied that it’s healing properly, sits on the edge of their bed. 

“All right,” Elektra says. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Matt waits for the rest of her response. When it doesn’t come, he asks, “What, no scathing comments about the Catholic Church or God?”

“No.”

“Why the change?”

Elektra sighs. “You believe in God. It gives you purpose, a sense of direction. Just because I don’t have faith in those things doesn’t mean you shouldn’t either.”

Matt kisses her cheek. “Did Father Lantom get to you too?”

“No.”

Her heart speeds up slightly. 

“Liar,” Matt murmurs. 

“Maybe a little,” Elektra amends. “There’s something about a good man who believes in something that’s hard to argue with. Maybe that’s why I fell for you.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The priest on the other side of the divider— Father de Luca— waits. Matt wraps his hand around the cross on his neck and tries to find the words to explain.

“I have lied, and turned to violence, and killed. I have done the worst of it for the woman I love but I was lost long before I met her. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am.”

The priest inhales slowly. Matt appreciates that he doesn’t seem afraid. In this part of Italy he’s probably heard worse, even as young as he sounds.

“Son, I don’t have all the answers. But God does. Perhaps we can understand them together. Do you think he would want you to be doing what you are doing?”

“I don’t know.” 

“All right. Doubt is not necessarily a bad thing, as long as we always try to have faith in our Father. Do you believe in God?”

“Yes. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.”

Father de Luca’s tone is approving. “Then that is the first and most important step. Do you try to do what’s right?”

Matt opens his mouth to say  _ yes _ but can’t make himself do it. For all his sins he has never lied to a priest.

“No. I have done things I knew to be wrong.”

“I think we all have,” the priest says. “That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable to do them, but it does mean that we can seek forgiveness for doing so, as long as we try to do better.”

Matt thinks that over. Father de Luca gives him a minute and then adds, “God in his boundless mercy has the capacity to forgive us for even willing sins.”

“Even murder?” Matt asks. 

“I like to think so,” Father de Luca responds, startling Matt. “I think that even mortal sins can be pardoned if we regret them deeply enough to seek redemption.”

Something in the priest’s voice makes Matt pause.

“You’re speaking from personal experience.”

“Yes,” Father de Luca says. “If you feel it would help you, I feel no shame in admitting what I did before I found God. I have made peace with who I used to be.”

Matt shakes his head before he remembers the priest probably can’t see it. “No, Father. It is not my place and I feel no need to drag up someone else’s past.”

“Thank you. Now. In my belief the third step to overcoming doubt is believing that you deserve forgiveness. Do you believe you do?”

Matt reviews the list of sins that’s always in the back of his mind.

“Some of them. But…” He recalls the sound of a man whose name he does not know breathing his last. “But some of the things I have done I don’t think deserve forgiveness.”

Father de Luca nods slowly. “I understand.”

Matt doesn’t know how this priest will react to what he says next. This isn’t Father Lantom but Matt thinks Father de Luca may understand his words anyway.

“I believe it was Nietzsche who said that what is done out of love is beyond good or evil. The things I have done that don’t deserve forgiveness I did for love. I don’t know if those are… I don’t know.”

“I never really cared for Nietzsche,” Father de Luca mutters. “Pretentious little fucker.”

Matt laughs, startled. “Accurate.”

“The idea is sound, though. I believe that the Bible states that killing is not a sin if it is done in war, self-defense, or defense of another. Killing to protect a loved one probably qualifies.”

“I have killed out of vengeance. Because they harmed my wife or threatened to.”

Father de Luca tilts his head from side to side. The vertebrae in his neck crack in rapid succession with a sound like gunshots. Matt feels guilty for adding to the priest’s stress.

“I believe God would forgive you for that,” the priest says. “As long as you feel remorse. I cannot comment on how the law would treat you.”

Matt exhales hard. “And if I don’t feel remorse?”

“I’m afraid God cannot help you be forgiven until you do. But He will always love and have faith in you.”

“Thank you, Father,” Matt says, standing. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

“How was confession?” Elektra asks when Matt gets back to the apartment. “Soul-lightening?” Her voice is teasing rather than scornful. 

Matt does his best to raise his eyes to the ceiling in a mute appeal to God. “As a matter of fact it  _ was _ soul-lightening. You should try it sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure I would burst into flames or be smited. Smote. I would be whatever the past tense of to smite is.”

Matt smiles.

“Ah, the snark has returned. The reprieve was nice while it lasted.”

“It’s hard to break old habits. Small steps.” 

“Small steps,” Matt repeats. 

With the weight of his cross back around his neck he feels lighter than he has since Rio.

Matt goes back to Father de Luca’s small, simple church two weeks later. Elektra sends him off with a kiss. She’s wearing a short dress that feels like fine silk beneath his hands and he loses himself in the feel of her body beneath it momentarily.

“I do have to go, Matthew,” she laughs, pushing him gently away. “I have a meeting to attend.”

“Should I be jealous?” 

“Well, I have always wanted to be a wealthy and mysterious widow whose husband died under suspicious circumstances, but no. It’s just an investment my adopted father made several years ago I want to check on.”

“Be careful.”

“Said the Devil to the Black Sky,” Elektra retorts, and she walks him to the sidewalk with her hand in his.

When Matt slips through the church doors Father de Luca is kneeling in the back pew. Matt catches the tail end of the priest’s prayer. 

Matt’s Italian is still fairly rudimentary, so it takes him a moment to realize priest de Luca is reciting the Prayer to Saint Michael.

"The protector of warriors?” Matt asks, sliding into the pew beside Father de Luca. “Interesting choice.”

Father de Luca crosses himself and gets off his knees.

“I suppose I have always been fond of him. Peace and love is God’s will, but even God required a warrior in the end. There’s a lesson to be learned there.”

Matt sits with Father de Luca in companionable silence. The priest cracks his neck and Matt winces at the sound.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” Father de Luca comments. 

Matt resists the urge to hide them. Elektra hadn’t told him it was noticeable. “Yes.”

“Did you come here seeking forgiveness, advice, or shelter?”

“I’m not on the run from the cops, if that’s what you mean.” 

_ Not at the moment anyway. _

“Always good to hear, but no. I meant shelter from the outside world. Shelter from action.”

Matt frowns. “Hiding from action is cowardice.”

The priest shrugs. “Sometimes. Sometimes it means reorienting yourself to face God. You do not strike me as a coward, son.”

“Matthew,” Matt says before he can reconsider giving his real name. “You can call me Matthew, father.”

“Matthew,” Father de Luca repeats. His accent gives Matt’s name an unfamiliar lilt. “You do not strike me as a coward, Matthew.”

“I like to think I’m not.” 

“Men with bruised knuckles rarely are.”

Matt does wonder if he is a coward on occasion, when he and Elektra are running to another city, another country, another continent. He doesn’t like running and leaving behind unfinished business. He likes standing his ground. But he also doesn’t have a death wish and he would rather sacrifice his pride to keep Elektra safe.

“Do you ever doubt that God loves us?” Matt asks. He had forgotten how reassuring it was to ask someone with absolute faith questions like this. Father Lantom had been his rock and Matt hadn’t realized how lost he had been without him.

“Yes. Less so every day, but yes. It’s the old dilemma: if God exists, why does He let terrible things happen?”

“And why does He?”

Matt hears Father de Luca smile. “I don’t know, Matthew. Anyone who claims to is lying. Personally, I believe it’s because we are blessed and cursed with free will, and free will means nothing if we cannot exercise it as we wish. It is a beautiful and terrible thing.”

When Father de Luca kneels and begins the Prayer to Saint Michael again, Matt kneels with him.

Matt stays for Mass. He doesn’t go up for communion, but he doesn’t slip out for it.

When he returns to the apartment Elektra is pacing.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asks, already calculating how quickly he can pull on his suit. 

“One of my adopted father’s investors has been stealing from his accounts.”

“And... by proxy your accounts?”

“Our accounts,” Elektra corrects, throwing herself onto the couch. “We can’t afford the paper trail that comes with a joint bank account but it’s ours. This bastard Samaras is stealing from us.”

Matt puts his arm around her shoulders and Elektra lets her head fall onto his shoulder.

“I don’t suppose we could sue him,” Matt muses. “I think my license to practice is still active.”

“I was thinking more like breaking into his house and threatening him until he returns the three million dollars with interest, but you’re welcome to get yourself arrested for improperly practicing law with an American legal license.”

“You’d break me out of prison,” Matt says, kissing the top of Elektra’s head. “You’d miss me.”

“Maybe a little,” Elektra concedes. 


	15. Defend Us in Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s disclaimer: I don’t know how to pick locks or embezzle. Don’t try this at home, kids. Or in any other context. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.  
> And yes, the last line is an indication that even worse things are about to happen. The next few chapters were my favorite to write so far.  
> Like, they were really painful, but they were fun.  
> Since I’m four chapters ahead of schedule I’m going to post chapter sixteen on Friday. :)

“Are you sure we can’t just break in through his window?”

Elektra finishes adjusting Matt’s tie. “Yes, Matthew. As I’ve told you several times now, Samaras has more sophisticated protection than we’re used to. Think of going to this meeting as interrogating an informant.”

Elektra turns her back to Matt in a silent demand and he obligingly zips up the back of her dress. The knife sheath sewn into it is unnoticeable once she flips her hair over her back. He kisses the side of her neck just to have an excuse to inhale her scent. 

With his lips against her neck, he murmurs, “I prefer interrogation when it’s in alleyways and I can beat the truth out of people.”

“As do I. It’s much easier. Unfortunately, with all the money he’s skimming from his clients, Samaras can afford enough security to make that difficult.”

Elektra sits on the bed to pull on her stilettos. Matt listens to her lace them up with trepidation.

“Those don’t sound very weight-bearing.”

“They’re not. But trust me when I say that nobody will care about how practical they are.”

“Because they look so good?”

“Yes, but mainly because  _ I _ look so good. It’s an excellent distraction”

“They’d have to be blind not to be starstruck by your beauty,” Matt says, straight-faced.

From her pause, Matt guesses Elektra is evaluating whether or not she can get away with leaving him at home.

“I keep you around to look pretty, not to make bad jokes,” Elektra mutters. She slings her tiny purse over her shoulder.

“Aww, you think I look pretty? Every time I look into a mirror all I see is nothing.”

Elektra flings a pillow at him. He ducks, smirking.

“I question my taste in men more every day,” Elektra announces, and she stalks out of their bedroom with her heels clicking.

Dimitris Samaras’ office is Milan is large and, in Matt’s opinion, unnecessarily opulent.

“Tacky,” Elektra says, quietly enough that only Matt can hear her. “Frank has better taste than this and he lives in concrete bunkers.”

“I have better taste than this and I can’t see.”

“There’s a marble fountain in the shape of a naked woman,” Elektra hisses. “We should burn down the place when we leave on matter of principle.”

“It’s not too late to go in through the window...”

“Ms. Natchios!” A cultured male voice calls. 

“It is now,” Elektra mutters, before raising her voice. “Dimitris, so good to see you again. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“Of course, of course,” Samaras says, extending his hand to her. 

Elektra takes it and Samaras lifts it to his lips for too long. Matt clears his throat loudly.

“A pleasure as always,” Elektra says. “This is my husband Matthew.”

Samaras does his best to crush Matt’s hand when they shake hands. Matt lets his devil’s smile show through and squeezes harder.

“So glad to meet you, Matthew,” the investment banker says. Matt derives petty pleasure from the way that Samaras surreptitiously flexes his hand when Matt lets go.

“Likewise,” Matt responds. “It’s always good to meet the people taking care of my wife’s money with such attention.”

Elektra nudges him with her foot.

Something’s wrong with this situation. Samaras is too nervous for this to be a normal business meeting.

“Does your hand still hurt?” Matt asks Elektra on the way to the elevators.

Elektra tilts her head in confusion, but when she notices how Samaras flinches at the word  _ hand _ , she laughs. Matt knows it’s fake but it makes Samaras relax.

“Oh, that? I slammed it in a car door,” she tells the banker. “Silly thing, really. Yes, Matthew, it’s perfectly fine now.”

She opens her purse and slips Matt’s clubs into his pocket.

The banker opens the door to his office and Elektra’s heart speeds up immediately. Matt takes a moment to track the echoes bouncing around the room-- they’re confusing, too much glass in the walls-- and barely ducks a sword blade headed towards his neck.

Samaras dives behind his desk.

There are three dead Hand soldiers and one shell-shocked banker within two minutes. Matt, panting and bleeding, grabs Samaras and slams him into his desk chair.

Elektra’s ankle has to be killing her. She’d punched her stiletto heel through one soldier’s throat-- and Matt has to admire that kick for its pure grace, it was a thing of beauty-- but she’d put too much weight on her other foot, and Matt had heard the ligaments in her ankle tearing. Still, she’s limping slightly enough that Matt doubts anyone else will notice.

Elektra flips her knife between her fingers. “Oh, Dimitris. That was so, so stupid of you.”

The banker tries to get up and Matt drives his elbow into his temple. Samaras collapses. 

Elektra continues, “You’re going to return the three million, plus interest, or those pretty little kids in the picture on your desk might not be so pretty anymore. Let’s say… Ten million in interest. I think that’s fair.”

The banker starts to protest, his head lolling against his chest, and Elektra settles onto his desk. She holds her knife against his cheek.

“Mm, maybe fifteen million. What do you think, Matthew?”

“Fifteen seems fair,” Matt responds absently. 

Something’s wrong with the acoustics in the office. The wall to his left doesn’t echo the way it should.

“Wonderful.”

Elektra watches Samaras execute the transfer to one of her Swiss bank accounts.

“They’re going to kill you for this,” he tells her when it’s done.

Elektra knocks him out with a paperweight and crushes his phone with the stiletto on her good leg. Matt keeps half of his attention on the banker’s breathing and the other half on the room.

“There’s something in that wall.” He jerks his chin to the left.

“Can you tell what it is?”

Matt starts knocking along the walls. 

He finds what sounds like a compartment behind a statue.

“Elektra,” he calls.

She stands behind him and says, “That is the ugliest statue I have ever seen.”

“There’s something behind it.”

As they drag the statue aside, Matt grunts, “This whole thing feels uncomfortably familiar.”

“Yes.”

Neither of them say  _ The Hand _ out loud but the words hang in the air regardless. It was one thing to know that the Hand was influential, but quite another to realize how deeply involved in the world’s businesses it was.

“There’s a lock on the safe. It looks pretty simple... I don’t suppose you can pick it?” Elektra asks.

Matt steps over to Samaras’ desk and feels around until he finds a paperclip.

“Give me two minutes.”

“Where did you learn how to pick locks? I never could get the hang of it.”

Matt unbends the paperclip. “Law school.”

Elektra starts going through Samaras’ desk, navigating around his unconscious body with disdain.

The lock on the safe gives with a soft click. Matt swings the hidden compartment open.

Elektra starts pulling files out of Samaras’ desk. “We need to get out of here. What’s in the safe?”

Matt tilts his head, listening to the echoes. 

“I can’t tell.”

Elektra peers over Matt’s shoulder. “Papers. And, uh, heroin. I’d just grab the papers, unless you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”

Matt obeys. He closes the safe door and helps Elektra move the statue back into place.

“Let’s leave as fast as we can without attracting attention,” Elektra says.

Matt pauses. “Should we kill Samaras?”

“I don’t think so.” Before Matt can hope that his morals are finally beginning to rub off on her, she adds, “I doubt the Hand will be too pleased with him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

They walk back to the apartment with Elektra leaning hard on Matt’s arm.

Matt listens with frustration from the bathroom as Elektra skims through the files they’d taken. He rarely feels as useless as when there’s something he can’t read.

“Do you know what an Iron Fist is?” Elektra asks, throwing a page onto the table. Her ankle is wrapped and she’s icing it with one hand. She’s going through Samaras’ files with the other.

“No idea.”

“Apparently it’s important to the Hand’s immortality. And in New York.”

Matt shrugs. He doesn’t have enough context to even speculate about what an Iron Fist is, and he made the choice to leave New York anyway.

He finishes bandaging the lacerations along his ribs and pulls a new silk shirt over his head.

When Elektra’s done reading the papers, she burns them in the bathroom trash can. From the bathroom, she says, “We should move.”

“Yeah. Greece next?” 

“That’s the plan. If you want to say goodbye to that priest of yours, I can finish packing.”

Matt tilts his head. “What?”

“You heard me. Hurry up. We’re leaving for Athens in half an hour.”

Matt hurries.

He’s on the steps of Father de Luca’s church when he hears his name from inside and freezes.

“Where is Matthew Murdock?” a cold, cultured female voice asks.

“No idea who you’re talking about,” Matt hears Father de Luca answer. 

“You might know him as Daredevil,” the female voice says. Her words are followed by the sound of bone breaking. 

Father de Luca screams, lets out a ragged laugh, and spits, “I don’t know him. And even if I did, I’d never tell you.” The last word is yelled.

For a moment Matt thinks the loud sounds that follow are just the priest popping his neck again. Then he smells the blood and realizes they were gunshots. 

“Burn it down,” the female voice orders. “No evidence. The Black Sky can’t be far.”

Matt runs.

Elektra and Matt get the news that Dimitris Samaras’ mutilated body was found in his own tacky fountain four days after they leave Milan.

Thanos snaps exactly one week later.


	16. South of 116th Sreet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been looking forward to this chapter for a long time. But, uh. Well. You’ll see.   
> I’ll just leave it here and back away apologetically.

Matt is kissing Elektra lazily on a beach balcony when Thanos snaps.

“This is not the end,” she whispers as she begins to turn to dust.

The orchids in the window shiver.

Then she’s gone.

Matt inhales and he’s standing in front of Nelson and Murdock’s old office building.

Foggy isn’t there. Karen and Father Lantom aren’t there.

They aren’t anywhere.

Matt inhales and he’s slumped against a wall outside his old apartment with Frank looming over him.

“Goddamnit, Red,” Frank mutters.

Matt inhales and he’s in a barren apartment that smells of gun oil and dog. He’s lying on a cot and there’s a bulky dog curled by his side.

“You up?” Frank asks. 

Matt pulls himself to a seated position. Frank walks over and pushes him back down onto the cot. Max settles more firmly against Matt’s stomach.

“You need to eat,” Frank says. “I’m not equipped to nurse you back to health or whatever, but your girl would kill me if I let you die.”

“She’s dead.” Matt’s voice is little more than a croak.

Frank scratches behind Max’s ears and walks towards the refrigerator on the other side of the room. “Figured as much.”

“So why even try?”

Frank’s movements falter. “Why should you even try living, or why should I keep you alive?”

“Either.”

Frank tosses a water bottle to Matt. Matt catches it and cracks the lid off. “Cause she would want the both of us to keep going.”

Matt wants to ask  _ the hell do you know about it ? _

He remembers Frank’s family and keeps his mouth shut. 

“You don’t got a choice,” Frank tells him, his back turned. “You don’t got a choice about any of this shit. They’re gonna tear everything you have away from you. You gotta hold on anyway. You gotta hold onto something. It don’t matter what it is. Spite, beating the shit out of people, that god of yours, or you can just keep going because it’s an insult to the memory of everyone you’ve lost to stop. It don’t matter. You don’t get to just stop.”

Matt turns his head toward the wall and says nothing.

Elektra is dead. Matt has no reason not to stop. He has nothing left to live for or hold on to.

_ She liked orchids. _

Matt inhales and he’s got an IV in his arm.

“What the fuck, Frank?”

“Oh, look. It lives.”

Matt goes to pull the IV out. Frank smacks his hand away.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Matt repeats.

“Like I said. You don’t get to just stop. You don’t get that choice. I won’t let you.”

Matt hears something in Frank’s voice that sounds dangerously close to desperation.

“Get the IV out and I’ll eat a goddamn protein bar or something,” Matt mutters.

The goddamn protein bar gets chucked at his head. Matt scowls and chokes it down.

Frank forces Matt to get out of the apartment the day after. 

“We’re taking Max for a walk,” he says. Matt doesn’t bother arguing, because there’s no point in doing anything.

Matt steps out onto the New York sidewalk and stops walking. Frank barely avoids stumbling into him.

“What?”

“It’s…”

Matt trails off and places his hand on Max’s neck. The dog is warm and solid. There are ridges of old scar tissue beneath Max’s fur..

“It’s quiet,” Matt finishes. 

There’s no other word for it. New York has been so many things to Matt-- home, most of all-- but it has never been quiet before. It’s eerily close to silent outside of the thick walls of Frank’s base. Even on the sidewalk there are very few people.

“Yep. No one’s really sure what to do yet. Cops and hospitals are all working overtime. I’m just waiting for the real killing to start.”

Matt rubs his hand over Max’s head. 

He smells orchids in the air.

“I’ll have your back when it does,” he says.

Frank doesn’t respond, just starts walking. Max nudges Matt’s hand and follows Frank down the sidewalk.

“I don’t have my suit anymore,” Matt says when they get back to Frank’s apartment. “I don’t know where it is.”

He has Elektra's knives-- he must have somehow gotten them through security-- but he can't bear to touch them. They're stashed under his cot.

Frank grunts. “I know a guy. Don’t think he got Dusted. Same thing, or can I finally make you get rid of those stupid horns?”

_ I want a symbol, _ Matt remembers saying a lifetime ago, and he says, “I want the same thing.”

He had wanted to be a symbol for Hell’s Kitchen to believe in, once. 

The Man in the Mask. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

He still wants to be the one people call to. He still wants to be something people can have faith in. That's the only thing he wants, now.

“Whatever you say, Red. Just know it’s my duty to remind you that you look like a moron.”

Matt is developing the impression that Frank is going easy on him. It’s disturbing.

The guy Frank knows turns out to be Melvin, which makes the whole process a lot faster. 

Matt pulls on the new suit-- Melvin has been working a new model for years, apparently-- and it feels like coming home.

“Thanks, Melvin.”

“Yeah.”

Melvin sounds much older than he had when Matt had last spoken with him.

“Betsy’s dead,” Melvin says, seemingly out of the blue. “It wasn’t even because of Thanos. It was because she tried to save someone from being hurt at work after that.”

Matt finds himself at a loss for words.

“We’ll protect Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt says at last.

“I know you will. That’s why I’m helping you even though you couldn’t save Betsy.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispers.

Melvin fidgets with a piece of metal. “It’s not your fault. You can’t save everybody. But try to, okay?”

“We will.” Matt says it with the weight of an  _ amen _ .

“If you give me the name of the person who killed her I’ll take them out for you,” Frank offers from his spot in the corner.

“Oh,” Melvin says. “That’s okay. I already killed him.”

Matt hears the first screams around nine that night. From his rooftop perch he tilts his head, trying to pinpoint the sound’s source.

“What is it, Lassie? Did little Timmy get mugged?” Frank asks mockingly.

Matt flips him off and starts across the rooftops.

He doesn’t even have to think about his path. He leaves Frank far behind. The smells of New York almost overpower the faint scent of orchids he can’t seem to escape from.

Matt knows his city better than he knows the rosary, even after the years he was gone. He knows it better than his Our Father, better than he knows how to throw a punch, better than he knows himself.

(Almost as well as he knew Elektra.)

This is home.

This is his thing to hold onto.

Hearing the sound of bone breaking makes him feel alive again. Letting the devil out lets him forget Elektra dissolving in his arms. Sparring with Frank in concrete apartments and on city rooftops with no holds barred makes him feel like he did before the Snap.

(That's what he tells himself when he wakes up reaching for her.)


	17. One Batch, Two Batch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is one of my all-time favorite characters but I don’t think Frank would like him, as you’ll see. I'm back to Frank's POV for this and the next chapter.  
> I’ve got the week off from classes so I’m posting another chapter Friday!  
> Everyone have a happy Thanksgiving! And anyone in the way of/traveling through the front heading through the US: drive safe.  
> Thanks for reading and I love hearing from you guys if you feel like dropping a comment :)
> 
> (Also, if anyone didn’t understand/catch the orchids thing, it’s from the season two finale:  
> Matt: “I had only a few moments with her... amidst all the... noise, chaos, and the violence. We were together only for moments. That was all. Orchids. She likes orchids. And, yeah, Stick... it was worth it.”)

There’s something wrong with Red. Even more so than usual. 

Frank’s not one to judge, but there’s a limit to how many times you can watch a man nearly beat someone to death before you get a little concerned.

“Maybe that priest is still around,” he comments to Red’s back. Red doesn’t respond.

Frank puts his eye back to his rifle scope and immediately tracks a man following a woman down the sidewalk. The woman is shooting frantic looks behind her.

“This looks like one of yours,” Frank says, changing the subject. “Sidewalk about thirty meters to our left, guy following a worried woman.”

Red tilts his head in that way he has, like Max does when somebody passes by the door. He starts down the fire escape with the unnatural grace and speed that makes people think he’s something more than human.

Frank wonders himself, on occasion.

He watches Red start in on the man Frank had pointed out. The woman runs. Smart lady.

Red’s only killed a few people since he came back to New York, and they were all human traffickers, but Red’s come pretty close a lot.

Frank watches Red kick the man’s teeth in and heads to the other side of the roof to check for anyone else who needs instructing on how to treat people.

Red’s got this situation under control. Whether or not he has himself under control is a separate question, but that ain’t Frank’s problem.

New York is going to hell. With half the police force gone and every level of government trying to regroup, the criminal organizations are thriving. Frank thought he’d gotten the Irish rooted out in his initial purge of New York but they’re definitely trying to prove him wrong.

Plus, Red’s friend Nelson got Fisk back in prison before the Snap, but Fisk and a lot of other prisoners escaped in the chaos following Thanos.

It would have been much easier if Fisk had been Dusted. 

Nothing in Frank’s life has ever been easy.

There’s rumors about the Avengers. What’s left of them, anyway. People in New York claim to have been saved by Captain America and the press says Iron Man was spotted stopping crime in LA. 

The public forgets about Hawkeye. Frank doesn’t. Once he goes to take out a section of the Triad and finds every member already dead. All of them had been killed with what looked like a sword.

Black Widow shows up sometimes too, usually in the Bronx. 

Frank is laid up with a sprained ankle watching the news when he sees Black Widow and Red fighting mercenaries together.

“Make a friend?” Frank asks when Red limps in the door. 

Red shrugs and hisses in pain at the movement.

Frank lugs out the extremely well-stocked first aid kit.

The clip of Black Widow and Daredevil destroying armed men in masks plays on CNN for days. 

Frank has to admit watching Natasha Romanov flip over one of Red's flawless roundhouses is worth watching.

Not long after that Red takes a hit to the head that knocks his hearing out. Frank threatens him until Red sulkily agrees to recover for a day or two.

Frank is in Queens gathering information on a Russian oligarch’s operations when he hears the sound of the Iron Man suit behind him.

He puts his binoculars down and stands up, one hand on his handgun.

“You Frank Castle?” Tony Stark asks through his mask.

Frank doesn’t bother responding. He’s not stupid enough to think Stark couldn’t have found out what his favorite childhood story was if the billionaire wanted to.

“Right. Rhetorical question.” The Iron Man suit’s mask opens to reveal an exhausted, stone-faced Tony Stark. “You’re a mass murderer. What are you doing in Queens?”

“Helping people. The hell are you doing here? I thought you’d taken your wife and kid and decided to leave your own damn mess behind like the coward you are.”

Stark’s expression goes cold. “You’re one to talk.”

“I ain’t a coward, at least.” Frank is many, many things, but he has never run from a fight, and he doesn’t intend to start now.

Stark’s jaw works. He says, “I should take you in. You and Daredevil both. You’re criminals and murderers and I could find you within seconds.”

“You won’t,” Frank says. “You know full well I’m keeping these people safe. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? ‘Cause that spider kid from Queens died and you’ve got his blood and the blood of the people he would have saved on your hands?”

Stark raises his hand. The repulsor glows. “Say that again. I dare you.”

No one ever said Frank doesn’t have a death wish. He keeps talking.

“I’m here because I’m helping them when no one else will. And Red… Red is a good man, and a better fighter, and if you could even manage to arrest him-- which I doubt-- you’d probably have riots in the streets. ‘Cause people need to know the Devil answers if you call.”

Frank stares into Tony Stark’s eyes and thinks that he might be looking down the barrel of the gun that finally kills him.

“Go back to your family, Stark,” Frank tells Iron Man when he doesn’t act. “I don’t need to justify myself to you. I served in Iraq and Afghanistan. I saw your weapons in action. You’ve got more deaths on your conscience than I do.”

Stark looks away. Frank keeps going, because he’s pissed off on Red's behalf.

“And Red is a better man than you by far. You come after me, you answer to him. You come after him, you answer to me and the entire city. So go back to wherever you fucked off to and leave us the hell alone.”

Stark leaves. Frank watches Iron Man’s scarlet and gold figure soar away and picks up his binoculars.

He doesn’t tell Red about it.

(The last real conversation Matt had with Frank was before Frank puts Matt’s IV in.

“Don’t you want to bring her back? Get revenge?” Frank asked, unsettled by the blank expression on Matt’s face.

“The Avengers couldn’t,” Matt said, not bothering to turn his face away from the wall. “Gods and supersoldiers and self-made weapons, the heroes who were supposed to defend us from the things people like us couldn’t. If Tony Stark and, and, Captain  _ fucking  _ America couldn’t stop him, then what the hell is the  _ point _ ? I can’t do anything. I can’t save anyone.”

Frank waited for Matt to pass out and put the IV in.)

(So yeah, Frank’s got a bone to pick with the Avengers. Sue him.)

“Do you want to kill Fisk, or should I?” Frank asks one night after a human trafficker confesses to them that he was working for Fisk.

Frank doesn’t expect a verbal response. Red doesn’t really talk anymore, not outside of threatening people. Even his prayers are mouthed silently. 

“I want to kill him,” Red whispers. It’s the first time Frank’s heard his voice in at least a week. “I want to be the one to make him realize that he’s lost.”

Frank nods to himself. “You sure you don’t want to track down Lantom first or something?”

“He’s dead. And even God needed a warrior.”

Frank doesn’t like the look on Red’s face. It reminds him a little too much of the soldiers he’d had to kill in his later tours. It’s the look of a fanatic willing to do anything for the cause because they have nothing else left.

“New York needs you,” Frank says.

Red lapses back into silence. 

Frank begins the process of disassembling his guns. Weapons are predictable. All they need is mechanical maintenance. 

He doesn’t have to be a damn head shrink for his assault rifles.

Red used to burn with the kind of fire that made people pay attention to him, that made juries spellbound, that made women and more than a few men entranced. He’d had the kind of absolute faith in God and humanity that was almost painful to look at. Frank had preferred Red in the suit and in the shadows for that reason. 

Looking too long at someone who burned as bright as Daredevil could blind you.

These days Red eats when Frank reminds him to, sleeps when Frank tells him to, and seems to have lost that spark of purpose that made him different.

Frank’s familiar with living with a death wish. He’s pretty sure Elektra would come back and kick his ass if he doesn’t get Red through it.

(Although Frank refuses to acknowledge the thought, sometimes he thinks maybe even if he can’t save the world, can’t save New York, couldn’t save his family... maybe he can still save Red.)

It’s been a little more than six months since the Snap when Red goes out on his own one night. Frank’s still recovering from getting knifed-- he really should have let Red handle the fancy fighting and stuck to shooting-- so he just leaves the window open and sacks out on his cot.

He realizes that was a bad idea when he hears a soft thud and wakes up to find himself pointing a gun at Red.

“Damn it, Red,” Frank mutters. He engages the safety on his gun and puts it back beside his cot. “I’m really gonna shoot your ass one of these days.”

Red shrugs. 

Frank scrubs his hand over his face and sits down on the cot. Max is still snoring at the foot of it.

“You’re useless,” he informs the dog. Max snorts in his sleep and rolls over.

Red takes off his mask. Even illuminated only by the light coming through the window, Frank can see the dark hollows beneath his eyes and his blank expression. 

“Madame Gao is back in the city,” Red says, like he expects Frank to know who the hell that is.

“What?”

“She’s a finger of the Hand. Was producing and selling heroin in Hell’s Kitchen for a while. Worked with Fisk.”

“Are we taking her out?”

“I don’t know if we can.”

Frank decides there’s no way he’s going back to sleep now and goes to the kitchen. “I need coffee for this conversation.”

Red perches on the stool in front of Frank’s workbench and waits.

When Frank has a cup of coffee in his hand, he leans on the counter and says, “Okay. Shoot.”

“You remember that time ninjas tried to kill me and Elektra on top of that warehouse?”

“Hard to forget.” 

Frank deals with enough weird shit without having to deal with fucking  _ ninjas. _

“Yeah.” Red clears his throat. This is more than Frank’s heard from him since a few days after he found him dying in an alleyway. “They’ve kind of been hunting us since then. And, uh, they kind of don’t die.”

Frank stares into his coffee and wishes he hadn’t promised Maria he’d stop drinking. Irish coffee sounds really good right now.

“Can they bleed?” Frank asks.

“Yes.”

“Then we can kill them.”

The smile that spreads across Red’s face is inhuman.

Frank sets down his coffee mug.

_ There you are. _


	18. Penny and Dime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of entirely Jossed both Iron Fist and Defenders so we’re just going completely AU here. Uh. If that's news.  
> This chapter kinda got a little bit pre-slashy. The plan is that the pairing for this fic is just going to be Elektra/Matt but read it how you want to because I as a person am fully in support of interpreting things as gay.  
> (Also, I was rewatching S2 because that's just what I do now I guess, and in S2E8 when Elektra gets poisoned and Matt calls her sweetie I experienced so many emotions.)

Frank likes his life straightforward. See a bad person, shoot them. See a good person, leave them alone, shoot the bad person who’s going after them.

He’s a simple kind of guy. He likes his world without shades of gray. So naturally, the first night Red takes Frank to scope out Gao’s base, they run into another level of weirdness.

There’s another person on the rooftop that Frank chooses for its sightlines into the warehouse.

Red holds up a hand when they step onto the roof. Frank comes to a halt and draws his Glock. Red’s nostrils flare and he points to the far corner.

“May as well come out,” Frank says. “We can see you.”

Or, well. Red can smell them. Frank doubts saying so would inspire confidence.

A dude who looks like he’s been wearing the same clothes for a month stands up. He’s got a mass of curls and he stands like a fighter.

“Who are you?” the stranger asks. His voice is, surprisingly, friendly. 

“I’m Frank,” Frank says. “This is Red.”

“The Punisher and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” the man says. 

Matt inclines his head, a slight, chilling smile on his lips.

“Are you here for Madame Gao as well?” the stranger asks.

Frank doesn’t lower his gun. “Maybe. Who are you?”

“I’m Danny Rand. The Iron Fist. And my purpose is to eliminate the Hand.”

Red stirs slightly. Frank stows that ‘Iron Fist’ piece away to ask about later. He goes through his knowledge of Danny Rand. He was assumed to be dead and now he’s the helm of Rand Enterprises. Apparently he’s some kind of vigilante on the side.

This shit is above his paygrade. And, Frank would like to note, he isn’t getting paid for this.

“Would you like to join me?” Rand asks.

“No.” Frank says it in unison with Red.

“Why not?”

“We’re not risking anyone else getting hurt,” Matt says.

Frank doesn’t know who Red’s referring to. He doesn’t think Red’s talking about his girl, since Frank doesn’t think Thanos was involved with the Hand.

“You lost someone,” Rand says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Red shrugs jerkily. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that I’m not getting anyone else killed.”

“If we’re going after the same person, doesn’t it make more sense to work together?” Rand asks.

Frank smothers a sigh. It’s like dealing with Matt before Matt lost his altar boy moral compass-- which is to say it’s absolutely headache-inducing.

“Unless you’ve got a way to kill Gao, we’re not interested,” Frank tells Rand.

“Actually…” Rand trails off.

Frank lowers his gun. 

Frank has a base a few blocks away from the ports. He doesn’t like compromising it but he’s pretty sure Rand isn’t bulletproof so he and Red take Rand there. He can relocate this one tomorrow.

“This all seems a bit… excessive,” Rand says, examining the empty apartment.

Frank locks the door. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”

Matt perches on the edge of the couch arm like some sort of creepy-ass gargoyle, which Frank takes to mean that Frank’s going to have to do all of the talking.

Matt doesn’t talk much anymore. 

“So. Killing Gao.” Frank throws himself into a chair. Rand seats himself across the table.

“The members of the Hand are able to stay alive for so long through some sort of ritual. The K’un Lun believe they are running out of the key ingredient to carry it out. If we can just keep them from accessing it…”

“Then we can kill them.” Matt’s voice is hoarse.

“Yes.” 

Frank rubs his hand over his face. “Okay. So what is it and how do we do that?”

“That part I don’t know,” Rand admits. “I’m working on it, but, uh, there’s so many people I need to protect, so there’s kind of a, uh, limit on what I can do…”

Frank really, really wishes he could get drunk right now.

Frank and Matt part from Rand with a vague plan of action. Frank and Red will work on containing the spread of heroin, Rand will work on finding out what the Hand’s ritual entails.

“Do you believe Rand?” Frank asks Matt, scratching Max behind the ears.

Matt tilts his hand back and forth in the universal gesture for  _ kind of _ .

“Was he telling the truth, at least?”

Matt nods.

Frank puts a cup of food into Max’s bowl. “What’s an Iron Fist, Red?”

“It’s important to the Hand. Elektra said--”

Matt stops talking.

Frank refills Max’s water bowl. The dog trots over to put his head in Matt’s lap instead of drinking.

“The Iron Fist is part of the Hand’s plans,” Matt says, rubbing Max’s back. Frank does his best not to notice the tears Matt’s swiping away. “From what I gathered, um, it’s important to how the Hand stays alive.”

“Don’t suppose you know anything else?” Frank asks, with little hope of being answered.

Matt shakes his head.

Fucking  _ ninjas _ . 

Frank stares at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the reassuring sounds of Max’s snores and Matt’s soft breathing.

Living with another person after this long is strange. After the mob slaughtered his family, Frank had taken months to get used to sleeping alone. It’s taken months to get used to Matt sleeping a few feet away, to Matt moving around Frank’s space and taking care of Max and watching Frank’s back.

Gradually, though, Matt’s presence has become as familiar as the gun beside Frank’s cot.

It’s disturbing, how easily Frank fell into the routine of relying on Matt to be there. It makes him uneasy but he’s too selfish to push Matt away.

Frank has someone close enough to hurt him again and he’s not willing to give that up. Not anymore.

They both have nightmares. 

When Red has them he stops breathing and jerks awake violently. Usually, he wordlessly climbs out the window and onto the roof. Frank worried at first-- not that he would ever admit that-- but Matt always comes back.

Frank comes to the conclusion that if Red was gonna off himself he would just get himself shot. He’s too Catholic to do anything else.

Some nights after Matt bolts upright, breathing hard, he lies down again. Matt grips the cross he still hasn’t taken off, his wedding ring on the chain beside it, and mouths prayers. Frank watches and says nothing because Frank has his demons too.

When Frank dreams of Maria’s brains splattering on his face or his fellow soldiers being torn apart by machine guns, he gets out of bed and disassembles and cleans his guns, over and over again. Occasionally he just holds onto his dog tags until they leave indents in his palm and pets Max.

Sometimes he catches Matt angling his head towards him, an indecipherable look on his face, but Matt doesn’t comment either.

When their dreams happen in the same night and they’re both shaking too hard to go back to sleep, they spar until they’re exhausted enough to forget.

They don’t talk about it, because Matt doesn’t talk anymore and Frank would rather eat a bullet than talk about it.

Frank wakes up about an hour before sunset. Matt’s already in that dumb-ass suit with coffee waiting for him.

It would almost feel domestic if it wasn’t for the guns all over the table.

Frank gets a kidnapper working for Fisk in his crosshairs.

“Red. One batch, two batch, penny and dime,” Frank murmurs. His sniper’s calm falls over him.

Hundreds of feet away, Matt nods in acknowledgment and starts running across the rooftops towards something only he can hear.

Frank fires and wonders if maybe this is what peace is.

For all the death and years and miles between them, Frank is more settled than he has been since his last tour.

Daredevil at his back, a gun in his hand, a target in his sights--

Yeah. He doesn’t have the words for that, the same way he doesn’t have words for the reassuring weight of his tags around his neck.

(The closest he has is  _ maybe I can’t save you, but I’ll be watching your six all the way to Hell. _ )


	19. A Good Man in Harlem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Frank and everyone else is in character, and yes, Elektra will be back. I’m sorry I killed her, but… plot.  
> Am I the only one who would happily throttle Stick if given the chance? Frank would probably help me...  
> Fun fact for the chapter: Max is based mostly on my dog, who’s big and can look scary but is scared of birds and umbrellas.  
> She’s kind of useless. I adore her.  
> Hope you like it!

Matt gets tired of Frank bringing up Lantom eventually. Matt’s killed several times, but Frank seems worried that killing Fisk in cold blood will be the one to bring back Matt’s hesitations.

“I’ll go to Mass if you go with me,” Matt snaps. “Otherwise fuck off.”

Frank ponders it. “Yeah, all right. Maria liked when I went.”

Matt does his best not to show his surprise. 

Frank hands Matt a cane and a pair of glasses that Sunday.

“In case people recognize you,” Frank explains, shifting. He probably expects Matt to whack him with the cane.

After so long pretending to have his sight it feels strange to put the glasses on again, but Frank does have a point.

Clinton Church is crowded-- half the universe dying tends to make people want to believe in an afterlife-- and the priest is clearly inexperienced. Father Lantom’s absence is most noticeable here, where Matt had always been able to find the priest’s heartbeat before.

Regardless, Matt sinks into the familiarity of the rituals and traditions he needs so much to keep him steady. Even the incense is comforting, if overwhelming.

It turns out that Frank knows the rituals of Catholic Mass well. 

He places Matt’s hand on his elbow to walk him up for communion.

Matt doesn’t take his hand off Frank’s arm until they’re a few blocks away and Frank doesn’t ask him too. Matt keeps the cane and glasses for next Sunday.

“How can you still have faith in some all-powerful person in the sky when we do what we do, Red?” Frank asks, sewing up a gash on Matt’s thigh at four the next morning. “ How can you believe in someone who lets this shit happen, who lets the world be the way it is?”

Matt remembers a priest who prayed to Saint Michael and died swearing he’d never met Matt.

“Because I believe that God gave us free will, and that was either His greatest gift to us, or His worst curse. And either way, it is ours to use.”

Frank loops the suture over his needle drivers and ties it off. Matt takes a swig of whiskey and exhales hard as the thread pulls against the edges of the cut. Max nudge his head against Matt’s hip and whines.

“If there is a God, you believe he-- or she, or they, whatever-- listens to your prayers?” Frank asks. “Sit still, I need to bandage this.”

Matt takes another sip and stays still as Frank goes through the kit. “I think He listens, yeah. I don’t know if He does anything about them, considering, but…”

“But what?”

_(Sitting in a police station while the cops try to figure out what to do with him._

_“Dad?”)_

_(Praying with his bloody palms pressed together over Elektra’s limp hand._

_“Sweetie, stay with me.”)_

“I prayed for Elektra and she lived. I have to believe that means something.”

“That weird old child-abusing guy saved her,” Frank mutters. “Nothing to do with any kind of higher power.”

Matt struggles upright. “You know Stick?”

Frank shoves him back down with one hand and starts winding gauze around Matt’s leg. “Nah. Just a suspicion I had. And, uh, I might have traded in some favors to find out more about you and her, back when you stabbed some people in Rio.”

“What the fuck is my life,” Matt sighs. He’s too dizzy to be angry.

“You’re the one who chooses to put on a mask with horns,” Frank reminds him. “Your life automatically goes off the deep end when you do that.”

Matt ignores him. 

Matt drifts off to sleep without realizing that he’d said Elektra’s name and it hadn’t felt like shards of glass in his throat. 

Matt has a teenage heroin dealer pinned to a wall on the outskirts of Harlem-- he isn’t going to hurt the kid, but he needs information-- when a hand falls on his shoulder and pulls him away.

Matt throws a punch at the newcomer’s face and nearly breaks his fingers.

“Back off, man,” the stranger rumbles. Matt takes one step backward and prepares for a fight. Of all the nights for him and Frank to work separately...

The stranger sighs. His heartbeat is low and steady and his skin-- Matt can’t decide what exactly his skin is, but it’s not radiating the right kind of heat.

“Look. Daredevil, right? My name is Luke Cage and I don’t want this shit in my city any more than you do. So let me talk to Marcus here and we can get to the root of the problem, instead of beating up this idiot kid who wanted money to pay for his sister’s college.”

Matt has heard of Luke Cage. He doesn’t want to get into a fight with a man who can’t be hurt. He inclines his head and takes another few steps back.

It won’t hurt anything to let Cage take the lead. 

“Thanks,” Cage says. He turns to the dealer.

“Hey, Marcus,” Cage says. “You wanna tell me where you’re getting this shit from?”

Marcus shakes his head. “Look, Luke, you know I can’t do that. I got my sister to look after and they’d go after her.”

“You don’t trust me to protect her?”

“You’re just one person. And you’re my fucking hero, man, but you can’t stop everything.”

“Watch me,” Cage says.

Matt thinks he could learn to like this guy.

“Marcus,” Matt says. “If we take out the people at the top, there won’t be anyone to hurt-- what’s your sister’s name?”

“Kayla,” Luke supplies. “Her name’s Kayla.”

“We take out the people in charge, Kayla will be safe, and you’ll be out.”

Marcus hesitates. 

“Look,” Matt says. He clears his throat. “You want to be selling heroin?”

“Of course not, asshole,” Marcus spits.

“Then let us help you.”

Cage waits for a decision.

“Okay,” Marcus says quietly. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything I know. But only if you protect Kayla.”

“I’ll get a friend to protect Kayla. I promise.”

“You ain’t doing it?” Matt hears Marcus’ heart speed up in fear.

“I got a drug trafficking organization to take down,” Cage tells Marcus. “But my friend is not someone anyone sane is gonna fuck with.”

“Who?” the kid asks.

“Her name’s Jessica Jones.”

Matt’s heard that name, too.

At Marcus’ apartment, Marcus gives them the address of one of Madame Gao’s warehouses. 

“That’s all I know,” he says, handing a scrap of paper to Cage. “I’ve only seen her once or twice but she’s there most of the time. I’m not important enough to know more.”

“Okay.” Cage presumably reads the paper and shoves it into his pocket. “Go to Jessica’s place. She’ll have Kayla there in half an hour. And hey.”

Cage puts his hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Keep your nose clean, all right? I’m proud of you.”

Matt follows Cage down to the street.

“So what now?” Cage asks. “I’ve got the address, wanna help me kick some ass?”

“I mean, yeah,” Matt says. “But I’ve got backup we might want, and it’s almost dawn. We can't risk Gao getting away.”

Cage grinds his teeth. “I want this out of my neighborhood.”

“So do I.” 

“You’re right, though.” Cage sighs. “Jessica will want to help too. She’s not a fan of drug dealers. So what’s the game plan?”

“I usually just go in through the window and fuck shit up,” Matt says. Cage huffs out a laugh. “Frank’s better at planning.”

“Frank Castle?” Cage clarifies.

“Yeah.”

Cage doesn’t respond for a moment.

“The Punisher doesn’t hurt kids,” he says at last. “And from what I’ve heard you’re a good man.”

“Not anymore.”

“That’s not what people say.”

Matt brings Cage back to his and Frank’s apartment. Matt knocks three times and then pauses before knocking two more times. It was the signal Frank had told him to use if he had a non-hostile person with him.

Frank opens the door with his hand on his gun. His heartbeat spikes slightly before he takes his hand from his gun to open the door wider.

“Really, Red? You brought home Luke Cage?”

Matt shrugs.

Frank sighs and moves out of the doorway. Max bounds up to Cage with his tail wagging furiously.

“Hopeless,” Frank tells Max. “You are absolutely hopeless.”

Max continues wagging unabated.

“So, uh.” Cage coughs and sets his coffee down. “Daredevil said you were good at planning.”

“Yeah.” Frank stands up to refill his own cup. “I’ve got some practice. What do you want?”

“We’ve got a lead on Gao’s operation,” Cage says.

“Right.” Frank sits down again. “So what is it and what do you want to do about it?”

Cage digs the scrap of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Frank. “Warehouse by the port. I want to get some information and then burn the place down.”

“Always with the port warehouses,” Frank mutters. “Jesus Christ.”

Matt turns his face towards Frank reproachfully.

“Sorry,” Frank says reluctantly. Matt catches the whisper of _altar boy_ that follows but elects to let it go.

Cage tilts his head but just says, “Got a plan? We can’t let this keep happening.”

“I can have one in a few days, max,” Frank says. “I’ll have Red find you when I’m ready.”

“Good.” Cage stands and then pauses. “Don’t take too long, Castle. We need to stop this.”

“I’m not an idiot and I don’t let kids get hurt,” Frank says. “Trust me on this.”

Max sits on Cage’s foot until Cage pets him to his satisfaction. Cage capitulates with good grace.

“At least Max likes him,” Frank says once Cage leaves. “That’s one thing he’s got going for him.”

“Max likes cats. And everyone he meets. Max doesn’t get an opinion.”

Frank shrugs. “He doesn’t like the Irish mob.”

“There is that. Then again, if Luke Cage was part of the Irish mob, the Irish mob would be running New York.”

Matt takes off his helmet. The air feels good against his face. Even with winter approaching the helmet isn’t exactly comfortable after a while.

“We’ll scope out the warehouse in a bit,” Frank tells Matt. “Get some sleep. We’ll have to move once we’re done working with Cage so you might want to start packing up.”

Matt heads into the bathroom. “Shame. I was just getting used to the smell of mossy concrete.”

Frank grumbles under his breath about Catholic altar boys and their need for luxury as Matt turns the shower on. 

Matt sticks his arm out of the bathroom and flips him off.

“I don’t like working with other people,” Frank tells Matt the second he walks out of the bathroom.

Matt towels off his hair. “Yeah, well. Me neither. But a bulletproof man with superstrength is tough to turn down.”

Frank grunts. “Cage is fine. He’s not going to mess things up. But Jones has a reputation for being a loose cannon, and I hear Rand meditates in trees in Central Park.”

Matt pauses. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Weird.”

“Yep.” Frank unlaces his boots. “If he’s important to the Hand it might be easier to just shoot him. As far as I can tell he doesn’t have anything we need.”

“I’m not going to kill a good man. And I won’t let you either.”

Frank doesn’t protest. Matt wonders why it feels like he just passed a test.

Just like every other day, Matt wakes up searching for Elektra’s heartbeat.

Just like every other time, it’s not there.

(Instead of Elektra’s he hears Franks, louder than hers was but just as steady. There’s Max’s, too, faster and quieter. 

Three years of running, three years of hiding, three years of being able to love her freely and with everything he was. Three years of being himself, three years of breathing in her scent, three years of waking up with her head nestled on his shoulder.

No matter how much he loves New York, Matt will never feel alive without her. No matter how long he lives, he will never be able to let anyone else in.

Every time he wakes up searching for her heartbeat, he feels her loss, and the pain of it knocks him breathless all over again.)


	20. Cooperation by Necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a few paragraphs to the end of the last chapter. Somehow I didn’t copy those into the posting box last week.
> 
> Y'all, this was originally supposed to be a 500-word dark one shot.  
> I just finished page 66 and started chapter 23. We’re above 25k. There’s kind of a plot. There's still not really an end in sight.  
> Oops?  
> Seriously though, thanks for sticking with this fic. I look forward to Tuesdays every week because of you guys. I never would have devoted this much time to this idea if not for those of you who subscribe and comment.  
> So. This chapter-- and every chapter, really-- is dedicated to whoever’s reading this. :)

Frank and Matt scope out the warehouse that afternoon.

“Several windows,” Frank says, quietly enough that Matt doubts anyone else could have heard it. “Looks like there’s three floors and I’d bet there’s some kind of basement, too. That’s probably where they’re producing and packaging it.”

Matt can’t get a clear picture of the inside of the warehouse, but there’s definitely movement on all three floors.

There’s guards at the front door. They open it for a truck and, as Matt listens, one guard starts towards him and Frank.

“Shit,” Matt says.

Matt grabs Frank’s hand. Frank jolts in surprise but doesn’t deck him, which is about the best Matt could hope for.

“We’re on our honeymoon. We’re clueless tourists from, uh. Fuck. We’re tourists.”

“The fuck are you on, Red?”

Matt jerks his head towards the guard and fixes a smile on his face.

Frank whispers an incredibly quiet  _ fuck _ and grips Matt’s hand back.

The guard comes to a stop in front of them. In a heavy Chicago accent, Frank asks, “Can we help you, ma’am?”

“You two have been out here for a while,” she says. “Everything all right?”

Matt, grateful for his sunglasses, beams at her. He does his best to imitate Frank’s accent. “We’re not from here, miss. We’re on our honeymoon and we wanted an authentic Big Apple experience.”

Matt can practically hear the guard trying not to roll her eyes. “Congratulations on your marriage, guys, but around here you’re more likely to get mugged than anything.”

“God, honey, I  _ told  _ you,” Frank tells Matt, heaving a sigh. Matt does his best to look sheepish instead of very disturbed. Frank directs his next words to the guard. “Kid grew up in the suburbs, thinks sketchy areas are  _ charming _ . He’s lucky he’s cute.” Frank shakes his head. The guard chuckles.

Matt smacks Frank’s arm with the back of his hand. “I should have married Steve. He was nice to me.”

The guard laughs. “Have a good day, guys.”

“Thank you, miss,” Frank says and Matt nearly chokes as Frank tips his baseball hat.

Frank and Matt hold hands until they’re-- Matt presumes-- out of sight. Frank drops Matt’s hand faster than Matt thinks is really necessary.

“Are you from Chicago or Alabama?” Matt asks scathingly. “Pick a cover story.”

“Says the person who wanted an  _ authentic _ experience,” Frank mutters. 

“I’m not the one from the suburbs, either.”

“A Catholic orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen is basically the suburbs.”

“It is  _ not _ .”

Frank chuckles and starts walking.

“Do you really think I’m cute?” Matt asks, jogging a few paces to catch up. 

Frank speeds up. “No. Fuck off.”

“You do!”

“Fuck. Off.”

Matt finds Luke in Harlem stopping an armed robbery through sheer intimidation.

“Hey,” Luke says, stepping aside to let two men with guns scamper away. “You got a plan?”

“More or less. Frank wants to meet Jessica. And Rand wants to meet both of you.”

“I’ve met Rand,” Luke says, following Matt. “He was taking care of Hell’s Kitchen while you were, uh, gone. He’s a good kid. Weird, but good.”

“That was my impression.” Anyone who meditates in trees is weird in Matt’s book.

“Where are we going to meet?”

Matt pauses. “I was thinking the apartment again.”

“Jessica won’t go to your apartment. She’s a little, uh…”

“Paranoid?”

Luke spreads his hands in acceptance. 

To be fair, Matt wouldn’t be inclined to go to the Punisher’s apartment either, if he hadn’t been living there for half a year.

“Where would you suggest we meet?” he asks.

“We could do Central Park? Rand hangs out there sometimes, there’s not a lot you could do to set up a trap.”

“Too crowded.”

“There would be eyewitnesses for when someone tries to kill us.”

Matt thinks back to Rio, a crowded sidewalk, two dead bodies, and the blood that's never left his hands. “That won’t stop them.” His voice cracks.

Luke doesn’t ask. “Rand might be able to rent out a restaurant or something. I don’t have a way to get ahold of him. I can bring Jessica if I have an address.”

“I can find Rand. I’ll find you tomorrow night with the address.”

“You just track people down, huh? Is that your thing?”

Matt lets his devil’s smile spread across his face. He takes satisfaction in the way Cage’s breath stutters at the sight of it.

“I can find anyone in my city.”

Matt climbs the nearest fire escape and heads towards Central Park, figuring that’s as good a place as any to start searching for Rand. Listening to heartbeats is difficult, now, without Elektra to ground him, and he prefers to be in the general area of who he's looking for.

He catches Cage’s mutter of, “Well that wasn’t creepy at all,” and laughs.

He hears whispers about Daredevil sometimes. People try to hide from him in churches. On one particularly memorable occasion, someone splashed holy water in his face. 

He’s Catholic. All it does is make him feel a little guilty. And he has a high tolerance for guilt, by virtue of the aforementioned Catholicism.

The fear is useful. If his reputation can stop people from getting hurt then that’s a good thing.

Frank mocks him mercilessly for it, of course, but Matt has practice tuning him out.

Rand turns out to be educating a small child who was taken from his parents about Buddhism.

“Hello, Daredevil,” Rand says. Matt hates being addressed by that moniker but can’t exactly give his real name. “I need to reunite this child with his parents, but I don’t have any contacts with the police.”

“Brett Mahoney,” Matt tells him. Matt thanks God every night that Brett survived the Snap. Matt’s not sure what he would have done otherwise. 

Matt walks Rand and the kid to Brett’s precinct. He imagines they make a strange sight: the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and a very rich business executive escorting a child through New York at two am.

Brett heaves a deep sigh when Matt ushers the child up to the front desk.

“Really, double D? You know there are other cops in the city, right?” Brett’s tone is exasperated but not irritated.

“Not ones I know I can trust,” Matt says before Brett’s words sink in. “Wait. Double D?”

“I’m not calling you Daredevil when I see you this often. Now go away before I have to arrest you.”

Matt obeys. The cops don’t get in his way much anymore, or even try too hard to go after Frank. They hate it, but they’re well aware New York's vigilantes are holding the city together while the world tries to reorder itself.

Rand trails after Matt. “I’ve found three warehouses so far. Two for heroin, one for cocaine.”

“Have you found the one on the ports?”

“Both of the heroin processing centers were on the docks, so yeah.”

Matt hates the ports. “Fantastic.”

“Have you and the Punisher discovered anything else?”

Matt winces. “Please just call him Frank. And yes, we’ve pinpointed the building Gao is using. And, uh, we have other people who want in.”

“Who?”

“Luke Cage and Jessica Jones.”

“Oh. Good.”

That went over much better than Matt had expected it to.

“When and where are we meeting?”

“Cage thought you might be willing to rent some restaurant out.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Matt will never get used to rich people.

Rand says, “I know a place with good Chinese food and not a lot of scrutiny. The Royal Dragon?”

“Sure.” Matt’s never heard of it.

“Say, eight pm?”

Matt nods. “I’ll tell Frank. And Cage.”

“It might be easier to just exchange numbers, instead of having to run around the city.”

Matt has been avoiding doing so. It implies that all of this teamwork is more than temporary.

Before he can think too hard Matt pulls his latest burner phone out of his pocket-- Melvin thinks of everything-- and tosses it to Rand.

“Put your number in.”

Frank’s going to kill Matt.

“Do I wear the suit?” Matt asks Frank.

“Do you  _ want _ to look like a moron and draw attention?”

Matt bites his tongue and pulls on one of his normal suits.

It still smells faintly of Elektra’s perfume. 

Rand is waiting for them. 

“Ah, Daredevil?” Rand asks. 

“Call me Matt,” Matt tells him. He does his best to keep his eyes focused on Rand.

“Matt. Then you must call me Danny. Good to see you.”

It’s painful to hold back the joke, but Frank elbows him in the ribs. 

Cage and a woman who must be Jessica Jones knock a few minutes later.

“This is Jessica,” Cage tells the three of them. “Jess, this is Frank Castle, Danny, and, uh…”

“Matt,” Matt informs him.

“And Matt,” Cage finishes.

“Wonderful,” Frank says. “Anyone want to talk about drug trafficking and murder now?”

“Please,” Jones says fervently.

As they all sit, Matt hears Jones ask Cage in a whisper, “What’s wrong with his eyes?”

Matt says a silent prayer to God for patience.

“I’m blind, Miss Jones, not deaf,” Matt says, and he wishes he could roll his eyes.


	21. Strategy Meets Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick and therefore bored so I'm posting a chapter today. 
> 
> Me: I’m making this as gay as I can make it without it actually being gay. I’m going to have to post a separate fic with all the outtakes.  
> My friend: This whole fic is a straight outtake from a gay fic that may or may not yet exist.  
> Me: … you're not wrong.
> 
> On that note: I am rapidly accumulating scenes I had to cut because they were slash and this fic is going to stay Matt/Elektra. I’m planning to post them at some point. Is anyone interested? If so, would you want them posted at the same time as the chapters they came from, or once this fic’s done?  
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I love feedback :)

“Kayla and Marcus are with Malcolm, but I’d rather not leave them too long,” Jones says, crossing her legs. “Let’s make this quick.”

“Right.” Rand-- Danny, Matt reminds himself-- seems to decide to take the lead in the conversation. “I’ve got four warehouses, we know which one Gao uses, and Frank’s got a plan. That about right?”

No one objects. Rand gestures to Frank. 

Frank says, “We can either all go in through windows and side doors and fuck shit up, or we can go in through one of the trucks that go in and out.”

It seems like everyone at the table turns to look at Frank. 

“What?” Frank asks. “There’s more to both of those, but that’s the executive summary. Gao is there most nights, from what I can tell.”

“You went back without me?” Matt demands.

“You were handling those dumbass Adderall dealers, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean--”

Cage clears his throat, cutting off Matt’s indignant response. “Right. So how do we want to play this?”

“Not all of us are bulletproof, so I vote for the truck idea,” Jones says. “We’d just, what, hold the driver at gunpoint and make him take us in?”

“More or less,” Frank says. “They’re Rand Enterprise trucks so I imagine Rand’s got some pull there.”

Matt, who had put up with Frank’s pacing and muttering about strategy for the past few days, is impressed that Frank restrains himself to that.

“Were all of her workers blind?” Matt asks Frank.

There’s a brief silence. Matt can practically hear the questions the other three want to ask, but all his attention is on Frank.

“Yeah,” Frank says. 

“So the drivers aren’t dedicated to the cause?”

“If that’s what being blinded means then no. They’ve all got their eyes.”

“Gao blinds her soldiers?” Danny asks, appalled.

“No. They blind themselves,” Matt corrects him. “The point is, if they’re not that loyal to her--”

“--They can be bribed,” Frank finishes. “Or threatened. I prefer the second option, personally.”

Matt shoots him a smile. “Of course you do.”

“You guys married or something?” Jones asks. 

She means it to be sarcastic, Matt knows. She has a well-deserved reputation for being caustic.

His hand goes to the wedding ring beneath his shirt nonetheless.

“No,” Frank says shortly. 

The silence which follows is awkward. 

Frank clears his throat and continues. “The truck might not be able to fit all of us. I suggest Red, Jones, and Rand go in the truck. I’ll be back up and Cage can either try to sneak in or kick down the door if he feels like it.”

Matt hears Cage smile. He imagines it must be intimidating. “You’ll know which one I choose pretty fast, tell you that much.”

“The screams and gunfire are usually a good tipoff,” Danny agrees cheerfully

“You look ridiculous, dude,” Jones tells Matt in a whisper.

“I’ll take your word for it, considering I can’t see.”

“Yeah, that explains a lot. Are you aware that you have horns?”

Matt gives a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Ms. Jones, I am aware that I have horns.”

“I think Matt’s suit is intimidating,” Danny says.

“Thank you, Danny.” Matt decides Danny is his new favorite person.

Jones is not deterred. “Maybe in a dark alley, yeah, but in any other context, you look like someone into a very specific kind of BDSM. Even in a dark truck trailer you look like--”

“Jessica Jones, stop talking.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

“We’re getting close.”

To Matt’s eternal gratitude, Jones stops talking. 

The truck comes to a halt. Matt hears the guards exchange pleasantries with the driver, whose heart is racing. He prays the five thousand dollars Danny bribed her with is enough.

The warehouse door slides up and the truck pulls through.

Matt hears an enormous crash from the other side of the warehouse, followed by Cage’s distinctive footsteps and several shouts.

Danny’s hand begins to emit a strange, low-pitched hum.

Matt draws Elektra’s knives and rolls his neck.

“Show time,” Jones murmurs.

Danny blows the back of the truck off its hinges.

Even fighting for his life, Matt feels Elektra’s absence as keenly as ever.

Jones and Cage are all brute force where Elektra was all grace and precision. Danny is pretty good, but he’s not her. 

Matt catches a sword blade on his armored forearm, sends a silent thanks to Melvin, and does his best to forget what it was like to be perfectly matched.

She’s dead. The only thing he has left is the blood on his hands, the smell of orchids, and the people who call for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Matt lets the heat of combat wipe everything but survival instinct from his mind. 

Matt has three dead soldiers at his feet and is about to stab another through the lung when the soldier turns and runs. 

Matt hears the telltale cane clicking. Danny moves to stand beside Matt. It sounds like the billionaire had cracked a few ribs, but Danny is hiding it well. Cage and Jones fall in behind Matt. It’s reassuring to have his back covered.

“Ah, Daredevil,” Gao says, descending the steps. “I thought you had given up your claim to New York?”

“This will always be my city,” Matt growls. 

“Dramatic son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Jones asks Luke, louder than Matt would consider to be required. Luke shushes her.

“I’m afraid it’s our city, now,” Gao says. “If you wanted to keep it from us than you should have stayed.”

“And let you kill Elektra?”

“Hardly my intention.”

“Why would you chase us all over the world if it wasn’t?”

Gao sighs. She comes to a halt ten feet away. “Again, that was not my intention. The Black Sky is Alexandra’s obsession, not mine. She was the one who killed that priest of yours in Milan, incidentally. I followed her directions, but now that she is dead…” Gao folds her hands over her cane handle. “Now the only orders I follow are my own.”

Cage speaks up before Matt can respond. “Look, I don’t care about you or your... organizational politics. I just want you to stop pushing drugs into New York.”

“Mr. Cage. A pleasure to meet you, I’m sure. But I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.”

“Well then, this has been a lovely waste of breath,” Jones says. She steps forward despite Cage’s urgent warning. “Let’s kill the bitch already.”

Matt sends a heartfelt apology to Foggy. If this is how his friend had felt throughout their entire relationship, Foggy deserves so many apologies if--  _ when _ \-- Matt sees him again.

“I believe you misunderstand me, Ms. Jones,” Gao murmurs. “It’s not necessary because I already have what I want.”

“Which is what?” Danny demands. His hand begins to hum again.

“Why, you, of course, Mr. Rand,” Gao says, and Matt shifts into a fighting stance as he hears people coming in through the windows upstairs.  
“You just _had_ to shoot your mouth off, Jess,” Cage hisses to Jones.

“I did tell you to stop talking, Ms. Jones,” Matt adds, vindicated, and then they’re fighting again.

Even Cage can’t get close to Gao. Whatever powers the fingers of the Hand have, they’re enough to keep the four of them away from her, and there doesn’t seem to be an end of ninjas ready to die for her.

Ninjas. Matt has been avoiding using that word for three years now because it seemed too absurd but he can’t avoid it anymore.

Ninjas.

What the hell even is his life.

Matt is starting to doubt that he’s going to get out of the warehouse alive when Frank kicks a side door in and shoots Gao through the shoulder. She gasps in pain and the force she’d been using to keep them away falters. Cage takes the opportunity to deck her and she collapses.

The Hand’s soldiers run. Matt wishes Elektra was there so someone else would understand his sudden sense of deja vu.

“She out, Red?” Frank asks, sweeping the rest of the first floor. 

Matt angles his head, checking. “Yes.”

“You’re one creepy fucker, dude,” Jones says.

Matt smiles at her. From her flinch he thinks it might not have been reassuring.

Frank pulls a syringe out of his Kevlar pocket and slides it into Gao’s neck.

“Still out,” Matt confirms.

“What are we doing with her?” Danny asks. His breathing is almost even and his ribs don’t sound cracked anymore.

Matt isn’t jealous or anything. Not at all.

“Red?”

Matt thinks about it. “We need to stop her business. We can’t let her go and we can’t keep her here… Anyone got any secret bases they want to tell us about?”

Danny raises his hand. “I have an apartment in Queens that no one else knows about.”

“So how do we get there?” Cage asks.

If Matt never has to ride in the back of a truck again he could die happily. On the plus side, Danny does his chi thing and heals all of Matt’s major injuries, further cementing his position as Matt’s favorite person.


	22. Cards and Captives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor chapter note: If you don’t know what it is, Euchre is a fun game but it usually takes a while to catch on. You play it in partners. I think that’s all the context you need.  
> Major chapter note one: there’s some torture in this chapter. There’s exactly one line at the end along the lines of the Hand torturing Stick. Also there’s two lines towards the middle that reference/really vaguely describe torturing an all around unpleasant person. Those are in parentheses and italics. Hit me up if you want more info.  
> Major chapter note two (the happier one): brownie points to whoever spots the title reference first! (It’s not subtle, but hey.)

Danny flicks on the lights in his apartment. Matt can barely hear the humming of the lights. Even a billionaire’s hideout needs fancy light bulbs, he guesses.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a last resort thing so I never really got around to, uh, decorating or anything.” Danny sounds sheepish.

Rich people are weird, Matt reminds himself.

“However will I go on,” Frank drawls. “I’m accustomed to a life of luxury, Rand.”

“I’ve seen your apartment,” Cage points out.

“And I’ve lived there,” Matt adds. “It smells like mossy concrete and sadness.”

His comment startles a laugh out of Cage. Matt grins.

Frank raises a finger at Matt. “That’s my middle finger, Red, in case you can’t tell.”

“How sweet of you to clarify.”

Cage drops Madame Gao’s unconscious body onto a chair. “Got any rope, rich boy?”

“Yeah.” Danny rummages around in what sounds like the kitchen drawer and comes out with a pile of cord.

“That works,” Cage says. He and Frank both reach for the cord at the same time. 

“Let the ex-Spec Ops guy tie the knots, Luke,” Jones says.

Luke doesn’t argue. If Matt was the petty type, he’d ask if they were married.

Who is he kidding. He is the petty type. He’s just a little intimidated by Cage.

“Those should hold,” Frank says. He tugs on the knots. “I can’t make any promises about them holding her if she starts using any of her Jedi Force shit, but otherwise we’re set.”

“You’re a Star Wars fan?” Matt asks, surprised.

“What’s a Star War?” Danny asks.

He’s not joking.

“It’s, uh.” Frank audibly gives up. “Gao should be out for five hours. I gave her a high dose of that sedative. So assuming she doesn’t burn through it quickly we’ve got maybe three hours to kill.”

“Will Max be okay?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. I recruited one of the kids in our building to take care of him. Max was overjoyed to stay with her.”

Matt isn’t sure he heard that right. “What?”

Frank ignores him.

Matt wonders if they’ll actually be moving after all. Frank even gave in and let Matt buy actual beds a few weeks ago.

It’s not home, because it doesn’t have Elektra in it, and nothing will ever be home without her. But it’s as close as he’s going to ever get again.

Jones seats herself on a couch and stretches. “Three hours to kill, huh? Rand, you got a deck of cards or something?”

“Yep.” Danny heads back into the kitchen and rummages around. He finds a rectangular object Matt assumes is a deck of cards.

Matt isn’t good at card games, for obvious reasons.

Danny hands the cards to Jones. She shuffles them. “All right assholes, let’s play Euchre.”

Frank cracks his knuckles. “You’re on.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Danny says.

Matt resigns himself to a long night.

“Get out of your suit, Red,” Frank tells him. “You look stupid. I’ve got one of your normal suits in my bag.”

“Which is where?”

“Truck.”

Matt is growing to hate trucks.

“You do look kind of stupid,” Luke confirms. 

“Fuck off,” Matt says. “Just, all of you, in general, fuck off. Except Danny. Danny’s okay.”

He leaves the apartment before his dignity is attacked again.

Danny and Frank win five rounds in a row.

“You were so lying,” Jones accuses Danny. “No one new is that good.”

“Would I lie to you, Ms. Jones?” Danny asks, either offended or pretending to be.

“I’m onto you, you liar,” she mutters. “You’re doing something with your weird-ass chi shit. And you may as well call me Jessica. We’ve committed several crimes together, we should all be on a first name basis.”

“Well, Jessica, this is truly my first time playing this game. And my first play is the Jack of Hearts.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jessica tells Danny, throwing a card at him. It bounces off his forehead and into Matt’s lap.

“I think that was her only trump card,” Matt tells Frank, putting the card on the table.

Frank flips the card over. “Wrong side up, Red.”

“I feel like that’s cheating, Matt,” Luke comments.

“I don’t think Frank has any more trump cards either,” Matt tells him.

Frank groans. “For someone who can’t see you’re really good at messing up my game.”

Matt beams. 

“You got your abilities _how_?” Luke demands.

“I punched a dragon in the heart,” Danny responds, placidly munching on a tortilla chip. 

“Bull.”

“Is that any less plausible than getting impenetrable skin from boiling in acid?”

“Yes,” the whole table says in unison.

Danny huffs. “Whatever. What about you, Jessica?”

“Car accident. Matt?”

“Chemical spill. Lost my sight, gained, well, everything else.”

“Do you miss it?” Luke asks.

Matt knows what he should say, but… “I’d give anything to see the sky one more time.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Does that make me the only normal one?” Frank asks. “That’s a position I’ve never been in before. Also, royal flush.”

Luke lets out an impressive string of curses.

It turns out that Frank is really good at poker, a fact which makes Jessica irritated. 

“Next time we’ll have to play for money instead of Cheez-Its,” Frank says.

“No way in hell,” Jessica snaps.

“She’ll do it,” Luke tells Frank in an undertone.

Jessica socks Luke in the arm and yelps. 

“Ow,” she mutters.

Gao wakes up not long after Frank consolidates all of the Cheez-Its. 

“She’s awake. Guess you’re getting saved by the bell,” Matt tells Jessica. 

“I rolled my eyes,” she says after a pause.

“Ah. I see. Or, I don’t.”

“Red, if you make one more blind pun, I’m going to shoot you,” Frank threatens.

“Didn’t see that coming.” 

“I swear to God--”

“Am I interrupting?” Gao interjects. “I assumed I was the guest of honor, considering my position.”

The levity goes out of the room. 

Luke puts the cards into the box.

“You want to tell us why you need the Iron Fist?” Matt asks.

Gao doesn’t answer. Matt’s pretty sure she’s smiling.

“You ever tortured someone, Red?” Frank asks. “Real torture.”

Matt can’t breathe for a moment.

“Yeah.”

( _Elektra’s hands over his, pressing her body into his back with her chin on his shoulder, while Matt slides a knife through a sobbing man's chest._ )

There’s the things he’s not proud of. Then there’s the things he would never, ever confess, even in his silent midnight prayers. 

“Let’s go, then.”

“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m not helping you torture someone,” Danny says. He walks to the other side of the room.

Luke folds his arms. “I’ll do what I have to do to help Marcus and Kayla.”

Jessica shrugs, her body thrumming with tension. “Yeah.”

Matt tunes their heartbeats and breathing out.

Matt finds the pit of cold anger that’s been inside him as long as he can remember and lets it distance him from the situation.

Nothing much bothers him when he’s in the grip of his anger-- not even the thought that one day he might not come back from the things he does when he lets the rage take over. 

The anger is what drives him, now that Elektra’s gone. It’s what let him be a defense lawyer by day and Daredevil at night. It’s what lets him kill and live with himself.

It’s the devil he lets out. More and more, it feels like it’s him.

( _The man he’d tortured had been following a twelve-year-old. Matt hadn’t even given leaving a thought.)_

Frank might have saved Elektra’s life three years ago, but he was about thirty years too late to save Matt’s soul.

“I spent most of the seventeenth century being interrogated,” Gao says. She sounds amused. “If you think you can break me, you are sorely mistaken.”

Matt hears her heartbeat stutter and knows she’s at least a little scared.

“We’ll find out,” he says, and Frank hands him the first long needle.

Matt is smiling as he drives it under her nail.


	23. We Do What We Gotta Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking like we’ll end up at around forty chapters. Roughly.  
> ...Maybe?  
> I might just end up writing until the day I die, but hey.  
> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!  
> (Bit of a dark chapter for the holidays, but… here ya go.)

Danny leaves the apartment once the screaming starts. Jessica and Luke pass notes back and forth and whisper. Matt ignores them.

“Why do you need Rand?” Frank repeats. Gao hangs her head and stays silent.

Matt trails his knife around her eye.

“Frank,” Luke says. “Can we talk?”

Frank lowers his knife. “Yeah. Uh, Matt?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Matt says. He manages to smile wanly when Frank snorts at the joke.

Frank follows Jessica and Luke out the door. Matt perches on the counter and breathes. He can hear their voices well enough.

“This isn’t working,” Jessica says. “Look, we do what we gotta do, I’m not arguing that. But this isn’t working.”

“I’m aware,” Frank snaps. “You got a better idea?”

“Yeah,” Luke says. “But Danny isn’t gonna like it.”

There’s a rustle of paper. Matt presumes Luke handed Frank a note.

Frank exhales. “Red, stop listening.”

Matt reluctantly turns his focus back to the apartment. He wonders when, exactly, he started trusting Frank Castle as much as he had trusted Elektra, and decides it doesn’t matter.

“I’m feeling rather ignored,” Gao comments. Her ragged breathing belies her casual tone.

“My heart breaks for you,” Matt mutters.

“And here I thought you were the civilized one. Tell me, Mr. Murdock, when did you lose your humanity?”

“I didn’t,” Matt says, even though he’s wondered the same thing for a while now. “I just accepted that in order to keep people safe from people like you I had to have a little less mercy.”

“Whoever fights monsters,” Gao murmurs, “should see that in the process he does not become one. You seem to have forgotten to watch yourself.”

“To quote a good man who the Hand murdered,” Matt says, “Nietzsche was a pretentious prick. To quote Terry Pratchett, who was not a prick: I’m the watchman, and I watch my own damn self.”

If Matt ever fails to watch himself, if he ever goes too far, Frank will to put a bullet through his skull, and Frank won’t miss. Matt’s not worried about what he might become. Frank will put him down if he becomes more of a monster.

Gao makes no further comment.

Danny’s shouts begin not long after.

“What are you doing?” Danny yells. The apartment door bursts open. Jessica and Luke are dragging the struggling billionaire along, each gripping one of his arms. Matt stands up.

The hum of Danny’s chi thing echoes through the apartment.

Frank draws his gun and points it at Danny’s head. “Stop it or I splatter your brains all over your fucking carpet.”

Danny stills.

“Frank?” Matt asks calmly, his clubs in his hand. Frank’s heart is steady enough he couldn’t check for a lie.

Frank taps his hand twice against his leg. Matt skims his memory-- Frank had an excessive amount of signals that he’d drilled into Matt-- and remembers two taps was the signal for  _ follow my lead _ .

Matt shoves his clubs into their holster. Trust was a strange thing, faith even stranger. Somewhere between the fighting and the blood and the arguing, he’d begun to believe in Frank Castle.

“Is this meant to intimidate me?” Gao inquires. “I know none of you would kill someone like Mr. Rand. You cling too tightly to the illusion of morality.”

“Everyone here but Rand is a killer,” Luke says. “For my people? To get heroin out of Harlem and shut you down? I’ll kill him myself if Castle doesn’t want to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Gao says.

Her heartbeat is speeding up.

“He’s not lying,” Matt says. “And neither am I when I say I would kill him, break your neck, and sleep well after. We do what we gotta do.”

Danny redoubles his efforts to escape. 

“You need him, right?” Frank asks. “And we need answers. If you don’t get him, then you die. And if we kill him, you won’t get him. You know how many I’ve killed. What’s one more?”

“Answer the question, bitch.” Jessica growls. “Or we’ll find out how immortal the Immortal Iron Fist here really is.”

Gao pulls against her bonds. “If you kill him, we’ll never stop hunting you.”

“And that’s different how?” Matt asks. “I’ll see if I notice the difference. Killing your soldiers is kind of routine by now.”

Danny slumps against Luke and Jessica’s grip. “If it stops the Hand, then I forgive you for what you’re about to do.”

He’s not lying. A pang of guilt goes through Matt.

“Fine,” Gao says, the word laden with venom. “Let the Iron Fist go.”

“Tell us what you need him for,” Frank counters.

“Fine.” Gao sags in her chair. “He’s the only one who can open the door to the dragon skeleton.”

“Dragon bone is what you use to stay alive?” Danny asks.

Gao nods.

“Great. That it?” Frank asks the group at large.

“Where is this door?” Matt asks Gao.

“Avengers Tower.”

“Lie,” Matt says.

Frank presses the barrel of his gun against Danny’s temple.

“Midland Circle,” Gao admits.

Matt remembers that building and the gaping, forty story deep hole beneath it.

“That’s all I needed.” Matt steps away from Gao.

“Why are you selling heroin?” Luke asks. 

“Oh, that? It’s a bit of a past time. It was never my real goal, as I’m sure Mr. Murdock remembers. It was a way to take attention from my grip on Rand Enterprises. And, of course, it was certain to bring the Iron Fist and the true threats out of the woodwork.”

“Worked out well for you,” Jessica mutters. 

Gao inclines her head. “It worked, although perhaps not in the way I intended.”

Jessica snorts and lets go of Danny.

Luke lets go as well. “That’s all I needed.”

“I’m good,” Jessica says. “Let’s just kill her already.”

Frank takes his gun from Danny’s skull, flicks off the safety, aims at Gao’s head, and fires twice.

“Sorry, Danny,” Luke says into the silence after the gunshots. “Your reactions had to be realistic.”

“Fuck you guys,” Danny says, but he doesn’t leave, so Matt assumes they’ll be okay. “I figured out what was going on when Frank didn’t take the safety off. He wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Thanks,” Frank says. He sounds flattered.

“They’ll bring Gao back to life,” Matt warns. 

“Could they do that if we burn her body?” Jessica asks.

The complete lack of emotion in her voice makes Matt flash her his devil’s smile. She smiles back this time.

Matt thinks Elektra would have liked Jessica Jones. 

Matt’s becoming rather fond of her himself.


	24. Sympathy for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things on the Matt-Jessica conversations:  
> -The part about Matt’s powers was taken almost verbatim from a conversation I had with a friend.  
> -Pigs will actually eat anything. Like. Anything.  
> -The NSA/FBI/whoever is probably watching my search history because of this chapter. However, I now know approximately how long it takes to burn a body. Worth it.  
> (For the record, it’s about six to eight hours. Presumably that's without accelerants.)

Jessica tosses Gao’s body into the back of the truck and gets into the driver’s seat. Matt feels for the door handle and climbs in beside her. 

“The property is maybe two and a half hours away,” Frank says. “You take longer than five and a half hours to get to Rand’s and we’ll come look for you.”

Jessica nods and turns the truck on.

“You hear her wake up or anything, you let me know, stat,” she says as they pull out of the warehouse.

“Oh, really? I was just going to sit peacefully while she regains consciousness and prepares to kill us.”

Jessica turns her head towards Matt for a long moment. “You’re a real smartass, you know that?”

“I’ve been told, yeah. It takes one to know one.”

She turns back to the road ahead. “Touche.”

Matt breathes deeply as she navigates out of the city. Before he ran with Elektra, being outside of New York would have crippled him, rendered him useless. Now it’s just one more thing he has to get used to.

“So how does your stuff work?” she asks. “Can you see in your superhero mode?”

“I’m blind.”

“No, I know. All the time?”

“Yes.” 

“How do you...” She waves the hand not on the wheel. “Do your thing?”

“It’s… It’s enhanced senses, echolocation, an enhanced sense of equilibrium. It’s impossible to explain. It’s… It’s a world on fire.”

Jessica nods. “Better hearing than humans, you can use echolocation… You’re like a pseudo-dolphin.”

“Um,” Matt says.

“Don’t argue,” Jessica orders him. “I’m not saying ‘world on fire’ with a straight face. It’s dolphin or bat.”

Matt sighs. “Psuedo-dolphin it is, then.”

Jessica pumps a fist in victory.

“How sharp are your senses?” she asks. “What can you tell about me?”

Matt gets the feeling that this is a test. He takes the risk of telling the truth.

“You drink too much.”

Luckily, she laughs.

Jessica parks on a grass lot outside what Matt assumes to be Albany. She turns off the truck.

“We here?” Matt asks.

“No, I’m shopping for land to start a horse ranch on.”

“Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.” She hops out before he can think of an appropriately snarky response.

Matt gets a grip on his surroundings after a few seconds. There’s a metal barn-type structure a few hundred feet away. Jessica slings Gao’s body over her shoulder-- Matt catches a stronger whiff of the smell and gags-- and starts toward it.

They douse the corpse in gasoline. Matt waits outside for Jessica to light the match. He doesn’t want to smell the burning human hair and flesh any more than he needs to.

Matt hears Jessica light and toss the match. Jessica stumbles out the door, retching. It takes her several moments to get her breathing under control. 

“Why does Frank have a prepared body-burning site?” Jessica asks. “You seem like you know him well enough to know.”

Matt experiences an overwhelming wave of nostalgia for the days when he didn’t know the Punisher well enough to talk about his favorite ways to dispose of bodies.

“No pig farms around here to use.”

“What the fuck.” Jessica says it with no inflection.

“Pigs will eat anything,” Matt says grimly.

“Jesus. I’m never eating bacon again.”

“Probably wise.” Matt doesn’t eat much meat. “It takes several hours to burn a body. I think we’ll have to take the chance of leaving an identifiable feature to get back on time.”

“Jesus,” Jessica repeats.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, please.”

“Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.”

“Stop blaspheming, god fucking damn it,” Matt says in a monotone.

“Maybe you’re not all that bad, Matt.”

They get to Danny’s house five hours and twenty-eight minutes after they left. Danny and Frank are waiting by the door.

Jessica brushes past Danny. “I put the gas and coffee on the company card. I’m crashing in one of your bedrooms.”

“Okay,” Danny says to her back. “I think Luke’s in the first one upstairs.”

Her stride doesn’t falter. She heads upstairs.

“Took you long enough. I was about to go look for you,” Frank says. 

Frank’s concern is obvious to Matt now that he’s learned how to see it. 

Frank doesn’t like acknowledging that he cares, though, so Matt sighs, “Get a new watch, asshole.”

Frank chucks an orange at Matt’s face. Matt catches it one-handed. “Eat and go to sleep, horn-head.”

“You sure you’re not married?” Danny asks, laughing. “You guys sure act like an old married couple.”

It doesn’t hurt as much as it did the first time. Elektra would have laughed too.

“He’s a cheap date,” Matt informs Danny. “I’m a man of wealth and taste.”

“Sympathy for the Devil?” Frank demands. “Really?”

Matt grins. “Please allow me to introduce myself.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Red,” Frank says, rubbing his forehead. “I left a pair of sweatpants in the bedroom all the way down the hall on the left. It’s maybe fifty feet from the landing.”

Matt heads upstairs. Even for him, it’s been a long day. He usually gets six hours of sleep these days and he hasn’t slept since yesterday morning. 

Matt catches Danny whisper, “You guys really aren’t, ya know, together?”

“He can hear you,” Frank says. “And no. His wife’s ghost would kill me painfully. Unless she was involved…”

Matt chokes on his own spit.

"Wow. Okay.” Danny coughs. “That’s… quite the image.”

Matt would bet whatever’s left of his soul that Frank winks because Danny’s sputtering as Frank walks away.

Frank’s smell is on the sheets of the bed. It’s weirdly comforting after this long living with him.

It’s still not the smell of home. Home smells like citrus and spice and orchids.

Frank’s smell, the smell of guns and Max and Kevlar, is what Matt’s got. Matt falls asleep with his hand curled loosely around one of Elektra’s knives beneath his pillow.

He dreams about Elektra falling into the hole beneath Midland Circle.

Frank wakes Matt up by tossing a toothbrush at him from the doorway. After Frank’s first, and last, disastrous attempt to shake Matt awake, he’d learned it was best to wake him up from a distance.

Matt wakes up fighting; Frank waits for him to start processing.

“What the-- what time is it?” Matt groans. Every muscle in his body hurts. 

“Half past get the fuck up,” Jessica calls from behind Frank. “We’ve got problems.”

“She means it’s three pm, Matt,” Frank says. “And yeah. We’ve, uh, we’ve got problems.”

Matt sits up. 

Danny points at the TV when he notices Matt.

“I can’t see,” Matt reminds him. He’s exhausted, he’s sore, and he just wants to go back to bed.

“Sorry,” Danny says. He hits what must be the unmute button. A voice Matt recognizes as belonging to a local news anchor-- Angie Sommers, he thinks her name is-- begins mid-sentence.

“--businesswoman known only as “Madame Gao”, a very influential figure in Rand Enterprises, was abducted late last night. Several of her bodyguards were murdered. The suspect was caught on film entering one of her warehouses, as you can see here, and he might be someone you might recognize-- Frank Castle, or, as the media calls him, _The Punisher_.”

“She is the media, though” Frank comments. He sounds unphased.

Jessica hands Matt a mug of coffee. Her breath smells like bad vodka.

Matt takes it numbly. “Shit.” 

People might not care much when Frank kills scum-- hell, they might even appreciate it-- but someone as prominent as Gao apparently was means problems. He and Frank might have to leave New York if the police decide to really go after them.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Shit.”

Angie Sommers continues. Matt thinks she might have stopped breathing in her excitement. “On account of the Punisher being involved, Tony Stark himself has promised to look into these crimes.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Matt says.


	25. Nothing by Halves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello, Matt,” the Black Widow says. “You really don’t do things by halves, do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to everyone hoping the Avengers would show up again. I think I have to include them in the tags now.  
> Oh boy...  
> *clears throat*   
> I’m not actually sure what Tony drives in canon but the McLaren P1 seemed suitable.  
> Hope you like this chapter!

“The one man in New York richer than Danny fucking Rand, and you had to piss him off,” Jessica says. She almost sounds admiring.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” Frank says. “He’s the terrorist-aiding asshole who’s decided to make my life more difficult.”

“Well, when you put it like that--”

“We’re screwed,” Danny interrupts Jessica. 

Matt’s scared on Danny’s behalf for a moment. Jessica Jones does not appreciate being interrupted. 

She lets the billionaire live, though. Matt takes a deep breath.

Danny, seemingly unaware of his near-death experience, continues. “We’re absolutely screwed. Tony Stark… Man, he probably knows where we are already.”

“Yup.” Frank cracks his knuckles.

“What aren’t you telling us?” Matt asks him. 

“He and I have an understanding,” Frank says, which does nothing to explain things.

“Elaborate,” Luke orders. “I’m sticking around but I’d appreciate knowing what’s actually going on.”

The casual way Luke throws his support behind Frank makes even Frank pause a beat. Frank elaborates reluctantly.

“We talked a few months ago. I told him he was a terrorist-aiding asshole and that he should fuck off. He fucked off.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Matt interjects.

“You weren’t really talking at the time. I dealt with it.”

“Apparently,” Jessica comments, “you didn’t. Now what are we going to do about it?’

Matt hadn’t wanted to collect phone numbers in case this mismatched, makeshift team became something permanent.

Somewhere between the Chinese food and the card games, that had happened.

This thing, whatever it is… 

This isn’t going anywhere. This is something solid. Something steady and real.

Before he can contemplate the implications of that, Matt’s burner starts ringing. He tosses it to Frank. “Who is it?”

“... It says Natasha Romanoff.” Frank tosses it back.

“I told her to put in her initials,” Matt mutters. He hits the button to accept the call and steps outside.

“Hello, Matt,” the Black Widow says. “You really don’t do things by halves, do you?” 

Matt can hear the weariness in her voice despite the poor quality of the phone’s speakers.

“My friend told me once that I always knew where to start, I just never knew when to stop.”

Matt hasn’t visited Foggy’s name on New York’s mass memorial. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stand it. Even the pain of remembering his friend in passing is incapacitating.

“That friend wasn’t wrong. Tony’s on the warpath, even if most of New York doesn’t give a damn about what you and Castle get up to.”

“Stark’s one to talk about justice and casualties.”

“Yes, well.” Natasha sighs. “Be that as it may, he’s got a problem with Castle. I’m not sure why, but…”

Matt waits.

“I tried to talk him down,” she says after a pause. “I did.”

“I believe you.”

“It’s just…” Natasha sighs again. Matt comes to the conclusion that she’s sighing a lot these days. “He doesn’t listen to any of us anymore. Be careful, Matt. I made one phone call, but… I’ll do what I can, but I can’t stop him.”

Matt hears what she’s really saying just fine.  _ I won’t hurt him to help you. _

He can’t blame her. 

He wouldn’t hurt Frank for someone who watched his back just once, and Matt knows more than most about what found family can mean. 

The four people arguing inside have somehow come to mean a lot to him. Matt hears Danny asking what a Hunger Game is and feels a surge of fondness.

Matt contemplates getting a psychological exam.

“Does he know where we are?” he asks Natasha. “Can you tell me that, at least?”

“Yes. I believe he’ll be over tonight, the drama queen that he is.” Natasha says it with weary affection.

“Thank you,” Matt tells her.

“You are welcome.”

Before Matt hangs up, she says, “Anytime you want to come up and spar, feel free.”

He smiles and takes it as the apology and invitation it is. “I will.”

"Good." Natasha ends the call.

Matt does intend to accept her invitation. As much as Matt loves sparring with Frank, he misses fighting people whose skills compliment his own style better.

That is, he misses Elektra. Matt misses her for so many reasons, but the way she fought is one of them.

Frank's good-- Frank's  _ really _ good, even if Matt would never admit it to him-- but his fighting technique is all about efficiency. There's no beauty in the way he fights, no elegance beyond the necessary grace all fighting requires. 

Matt misses sparring with someone who fought like it was an art form.

He is under no illusions about his skills-- Natasha will no doubt kick his ass-- but he’s looking forward to it. 

Matt’s faint smile fades as he hears the raised voices of the others and remembers why she called. He leans against the door and breathes.

First he has to survive Tony Stark. Then he can spar with Black Widow.

“I could probably shoot his repulsors out while he’s flying,” Matt hears Frank muse. 

Jessica says, "That's not actually a bad idea."

Matt goes back inside to convince the lunatics that killing Tony Stark is not a good plan.

In preparation for being murdered by Iron Man, Matt takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and pulls on a new suit. He does his best to comb his hair while it’s still wet. Frank walks by and pauses.

“No, no, stop,” Frank sighs. He steals the comb that Danny leant Matt. “I got it.”

Matt fidgets and tries to stand still.

“I don’t get why you’re dressing up to deal with Stark,” Frank says, stepping back. “He’s an asshole.”

Matt shrugs. “Habit. Why do you hate him so much?”

Frank tosses the comb onto the bathroom counter. It clatters. “Because a good number of the guys I served with would still be alive if he hadn’t been selling to terrorists.”

“Okay.”

“Great. So why do you not hate him?”

“Never had a reason to, I guess. Or never realized I had a reason to. He saved Foggy’s life the day of the Chitauri Invasion.”

“Well, you could have said that first. That’s… that’s one point in his favor, I guess.”

Matt tilts his head. “You like-- liked-- Foggy?”

Frank shrugs. “I guess. He was… He was trying his best for you, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Matt closes his eyes to try to hold back the tears threatening to form. “Yeah, he was.”

“You don’t let people like that go, Red,” Frank says. “You gotta hold on to the ones that would fight for you.”

“Little late for that now,” Matt says. “I ran with Elektra because she was the one thing that made me feel more alive than this city, and now she and Foggy and Karen are dead anyway, and people got hurt for nothing, and it’s too late. So… so just shut up.” 

Matt’s crying.

He hasn’t let himself cry for his wife or his friends since they died. 

Now, in Danny Rand’s opulent bathroom, half a year after the Snap, he starts sobbing.

“I know, Red. I know.” Frank awkwardly puts an arm around Matt.

Matt turns into Frank and buries his face in Frank’s shoulder.

Frank’s heartbeat spikes. Matt almost pulls away, but Frank wraps his arms around him.

“I know,” Frank repeats. “I know.”

It’s not a solution, it’s not a promise, and it’s not going to change anything.

It feels like it is anyway.

The five of them are as prepared as they’re ever going to be by the time Tony Stark steps out of his McLaren P1-- Jessica is, unexpectedly, into cars-- and onto Danny’s steps.

“How can I help you, Mr. Stark?” Danny asks, opening the door. 

“I think you know.” 

Stark walks in without asking. His cologne smells incredibly expensive, but his clothes smell like machine oil and coffee.

Matt thinks that in another life he could have liked this man.

Stark stops walking when he-- Matt assumes, anyway-- sees Matt, Frank, Jessica, and Luke waiting.

“I already told you to fuck off,” Frank says. “Red’s got a gift with words if you want to hear it again.” 

Matt sighs through his nose.

“I think I got the message the first time around, thanks,” Stark mutters. “You were very succinct.”

“It’s a gift. You gonna arrest me or what? I’ve even got my lawyer all ready and everything.”

Matt is reconsidering if he wants to be Frank's lawyer.

Stark shoves his hands into his pockets. “Haven’t decided yet. It’ll depend on how this conversation goes.”

“What does that mean?” Matt asks. 

“I want to know why some old guy named Stick broke into my house, threatened me with a cane, and told me to ask you people about something called the Hand,” Stark says. “I’ve been threatened a lot in my lifetime, but never by an old blind guy with one arm. I got curious.”

Matt desperately wishes he could go back to bed. 

“You may as well sit down,” Danny sighs.


	26. Unexpected Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been having a kind of shitty week so here’s the next chapter. :)  
> In this universe JARVIS is alive and well because I say so. I will not be taking constructive criticism on this matter.  
> Claire died in the Snap, by the way. Frank and Luke have the dubious privilege of being the voices of reason for the Defenders.

“In summary,” Stark says, “there’s some ancient organization whose members are ninjas and live forever through dragon bone, they wanted Murdock’s girlfriend for some unknown reason, Gao was one of the leaders, and she claimed Rand here is the key to getting dragon bone?”

“Pretty much,” Matt agrees. “Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s. Well. It’s kind of insane, but it’s the truth.”

“So who’s Stick in all of this?” Stick has apparently made quite an impression on Stark. 

Matt had been hoping the old man had died in the Snap.

“He’s a member of the Chaste.”

Stark rubs his temples. “Well, that clears things right up.”

“They’re the people who fight the Hand,” Matt elaborates. “Stick’s an asshole, but he’s not one of the Hand.” 

“You know him?” Danny asks.

“You’ve seen me fight. He taught me.” Stick had been an effective teacher, if nothing else.

“You’re a blind ninja, you’re a lawyer, you married the Black Sky,  _ and _ you’re a member of the Chaste?”

“No. That was Stick’s thing. He liked child soldiers. Just not ones who didn’t want to fight in his secret wars. I was never part of that shit.”

Beside Matt, Frank folds his arms.

Matt would feel guilty about putting Stick on Frank’s list of targets if not for what he’d done to Elektra. She’d told him about her time with him in bits and pieces. By the end of it, Matt had regretted not letting her kill him.

Frank doesn’t like people who hurt kids. Matt wouldn’t mind if Stick wound up with a bullet through his head. 

It would be a suitable way to honor Elektra’s memory.

“Jesus,” Stark says. “I didn't know you were a--”

“We’re not going to talk about that,” Matt says, because this situation is bad enough without thinking about Stick. “We’re going to talk about whether or not you’re going to try to take Frank in, and if we--” he gestures to Luke, Jessica, and Danny-- “are going to have to stop you.”

“You really think you could?” Stark asks. Matt angles his head, trying to get a read on Stark’s tone. He can’t tell if Stark’s amused or threatening.

“Red wouldn’t let me kill you,” Frank says. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t. Or, doesn’t mean that  _ we _ couldn’t.”

Stark snorts. “Whatever. No, I’m not taking you in. I totally could, but I’m not going to. JARVIS has been cross-referencing your entire story and it checks out, unfortunately. So congrats, Castle, you get to stay a free man.”

“Great,” Jessica says. “Go away.” 

Matt supports the sentiment.

Instead of leaving, Stark stretches out across Danny’s nice couch. He props his boots on the glass coffee table. “Nah. I think you need my help.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, here we go,” Jessica mutters. 

Matt hears Stark’s lips peel back in a smile. He wonders if it’s the same smile Matt saw on magazine covers when he was younger-- the blinding, charming grin that made the world fall in love with Stark. It was the type of smile Matt used in court.

“Obadiah Stane worked for the Hand,” Stark says. “This is my mess to clean up.”

Frank shifts just enough for Matt to know Stark’s words meant something.

“Truth,” Matt tells everyone.

“Of course that’s the truth. What, you think I’d lie to you?” Stark’s hands are twitching. Matt can practically feel the caffeine and anxious energy radiating off of him.

“Yes,” Jessica says. 

“Fair enough. Wait, you can tell when someone’s lying, Double D?”

“Don’t call me that,” Matt responds. Only Brett can get away with calling him Double D. Brett puts up with enough shit from Matt to have earned that privilege. “And yes, usually.”

“How?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Frank answers Stark before Matt can. “What matters is that we don’t need your help, and we don’t need you screwing things up.”

“I can get the authorities off your back and I can get you Wilson Fisk. I think you do need me.”

Matt turns his head towards Stark.

“Goddamnit, Red,” Frank whispers, quietly enough that only Matt can hear it. “You’re dealing with this jackass, then.”

“Thought that might get your attention, Double D,” Stark says. 

Matt resigns himself to dealing with this asshole. If he gets to kill Fisk, he can put up with an annoying ‘superhero’. Frank will just have to put up with Matt complaining about it.

“Matt,” he corrects Stark. “Call me Matt, if you’re going to insist on getting in my way.”

“Wait, wait,” Luke interrupts. “Wilson Fisk? That guy Daredevil-- Matt-- got put in jail? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Oh, do I have news for you.” Stark crosses his ankles. “He’s out, and he’s the reason Gao was able to expand so rapidly. He’s not even pretending to be the good guy anymore. Word is Double D has it out for the guy.”

“And you’re only now acting on this information?” Matt asks. People who look away from violence are culpable for allowing it to happen.

“Yeah,” Stark says. “I only got it, like, fifty minutes ago, if that makes you feel any better.”

“A little.”

Stark pulls some papers out of his inside suit pocket. “This has Fisk’s address, security, and habits on it,” he says, handing the wadded-up notes to Matt. “If he vanishes, I’ll make sure it stays out of the news.”

“You’re not staying?” Danny asks Stark. “We could use your help.”

Jessica snorts. Her contempt is clear. Matt’s pretty sure she and Frank are on the same page when it comes to Stark.

“Nah.” Stark cracks his knuckles and stands up. “I’ve got an adorable but demonic six-month old kid and a wife who probably needs to sleep.”

Stark directs his next words to Frank. “I’ve got some ideas on how I can start cleaning up my messes, though. You might be hearing from me soon.”

Frank nods.

“Thanks, Stark,” Luke says. He’s the only one who does. 

Matt reaches the conclusion that Luke is the only reasonable one.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, guys,” Stark says. He lingers in the doorway. “We would’ve loved to have any of you on the Avengers, you know. Well. Except maybe Castle.”

“I’d rather die than have a code name and a stupid costume,” Jessica tells him.

Stark laughs. “You and I would have gotten along well, Jones.”

He closes the door behind him.

“You sure you want to get yourselves involved in this?” Matt asks. “I understand if any of you want to walk away now that Gao’s out of the picture. I won’t hold it against you, and neither will Frank, even if he looks like he will.”

Frank bites into his piece of pizza and says nothing. 

Danny, Luke, and Jessica are silent for several seconds. Surprisingly, Jessica is the first one to speak.

“I don’t like drug dealers,” she says. “I’m not a hero and I’m not a good person, but I don’t like drug dealers, and I especially don’t like drug dealers who are human traffickers. Besides, I need Frank to live long enough for me to beat him at poker.” She rips into her pizza.

When Luke speaks, his voice is slow but certain. “I got into this mess to help one kid. One family. And this is way outta my league. But… Fisk messed with Harlem. Some girls have gone missing. And Marcus wasn’t the only dealer. And I won’t leave you three without backup.”

There is something very reassuring, Matt muses, about hearing Luke Cage and Jessica Jones say they would back you up. It was a bit like having a friendly force of nature at your side.

“Any way I can hurt the Hand, I will,” Danny says, more enthusiastically than Matt thinks the situation warrants. The kid is so young it almost hurts. He still has the innocence the rest of them have had ripped out of them. “It is my duty to protect people. And you are my friends and my teammates. Together, no threat can stop us.”

As one, Jessica, Matt, and Frank say, “We’re not a team!”

Luke chuckles and picks up another piece of pizza.


	27. Take the Hits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, staring at the ceiling at one am: Oh shit, I actually have to deal with the plot. Maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away again.  
> Me, staring at the ceiling at one thirty am: The plot’s still there. Damn it.
> 
> There’s a reason I mostly write character studies, y’all. But here you go!

"What are you going to do with Fisk?" Luke asks Matt. Frank's picking up Max from the neighbors, Jessica went out to get more booze, and Danny went with Jessica, so it's just Matt and Luke.

Matt is fairly certain he and Luke have an hour before they're going to have to bail the three of them out of jail.

Matt thinks about lying. He respects Luke too much to do that, though, and he's pretty sure if he lies about killing Fisk he won't be working with Luke again.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Okay."

“That's it?”

“There's people that can’t be stopped any other way," Luke says. "And I trust your judgement. If you say he needs to die, then he probably does. And if he's been involved in some of the disappearances, then… I gotta say I wouldn't mind too much."

Matt laughs a little. "There was a time when I would have stopped someone from killing even that bastard."

"I used to believe people could be saved," Luke says. "Most of them, anyway. And that murder was more or less unjustified."

Matt's pretty sure Luke is smiling a smile that's a lot like Matt's devil smile.

"Then Thanos happened," Luke says. "Then Fisk happened. Then Gao happened. And I realized that I need to be what Harlem needs."

Matt nods. "Hell's Kitchen needed a symbol. I'm not a good person, but I keep it safe. I'm what they need."

"We do what's necessary," Luke says. “We do what we gotta do.”

The conversation ends there, but it's still bothering Matt as he grabs a beer from the fridge. Danny had told him they were in the lower fridge door.

_ He who hunts monsters _ , Gao had reminded him,  _ must take care that he does not become one. _

_ No one is ever beyond saving, _ Father Lantom had said.

Matt shakes his head and leans on the counter to drink his beer. He can think about the moral ramifications of committing premeditated murder once Fisk is dead.

He misses Elektra with such desperation it takes his breath away. They had corrupted each other, ripped each other apart and rebuilt each other wrong, but she was the only one who had seen his darkness and embraced it.

Matt doesn't even have the excuse of doing what had to be done to keep people safe after Thanos. He's killed for personal reasons, for revenge.

If Elektra put the men who had killed his father in front of Matt now, Matt would kill them without much of a second thought.

Matt's damned. At least he'll go to Hell for what he's done, and not what he's failed to do. He's always thought that failing to act was the greater sin of the two.

"Always forward," Luke murmurs. "We take the hits and we move forward and we try not to fuck it up too badly."

"That last bit's the important part."

Luke laughs.

He and Matt drink in silence until Matt's phone goes off. He answers it with trepidation.

"Uh, Matt?" Danny says sheepishly. "We might be in a little trouble."

Luke is the one who goes to bail out Jessica and Danny, who have somehow gotten themselves stranded in the Bronx. Frank-- conveniently-- gets back a couple minutes after Luke leaves.

Max is overjoyed to see Matt again. Matt, to his dismay, is happy to hear the dog's panting again.

"His food is in the car," Frank says over the sound of Max's tail thumping into the wall. "Go get it so I can ditch the car."

"Did you steal a car just to get our dog?"

"Yes."

Matt scratches along Max's back one more time and goes to get the pit bull's food.

Max loves Danny's house. The dog spends two hours in Danny's yard before coming inside.

"… Is that a dog?" Danny asks when Max ambles up to him. "Why is it in my house?"

"I'm a wanted man," Frank says. "I didn’t want to stay in a place people knew me and I wasn't leaving Max any longer. He’s polite. He won't be an issue."

Danny's heart rate remains elevated. "Frank, I don't know if this is--"

Max gives up on Danny and trots towards Jessica.

"Hey, buddy," she coos, dropping down to one knee. Max leans his entire body into her leg. His tail beats against the floor. "Who's a good boy? Oh, you are, aren't you? Yes you are, yes you are."

"You like dogs?" Luke asks. He sounds surprised.

"Who doesn't like dogs?" Jessica sniffs. She continues to scratch behind Max's ears. “I love dogs.”

“You have unexpected depths, Jessica Jones,” Luke murmurs.

Matt remembers two of the first lessons Stick had taught him: what love felt like, and that love was a sickness.

He’s pretty sure Luke and Jessica have that same sickness.

“I never agreed to let the dog stay,” Danny persists. “Or any of you, for that matter.”

“Do you want us to leave?” Luke asks. “If we’re intruding--”

Danny scrubs a hand through his hair. “No, I guess not. Just keep that… keep  _ Max _ out of the bedrooms, please.”

“Max sleeps on my bed.” Frank’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Danny throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll just be over here, paying for everything, letting this dog run all over the place, and sheltering the four of you from the law.”

“My heart breaks for you, Danny,” Jessica says. Max's tail wags. “Poor, sad, rich white boy.”

“My money is paying for your alcohol and the Chinese food I ordered.”

“I take it back. You’re a wonderful rich white boy.”

Fisk turns out to be living just outside of Hell’s Kitchen.

“He didn’t leave the city?” Frank asks. “Seems like if he’s as smart as he thinks he is he would have taken off.”

“He’s smart, but he’s an egotistical asshole,” Matt says. “He’s also probably gotten most of the new cops on his payroll.”

“Definitely an egotistical asshole,” Jessica says, tossing Stark’s notes on the coffee table. “Five hundred bucks on cufflinks? Jesus.”

“Stark's stuff said he’s got a woman with him,” Luke comments. “What are we doing with her? Is she in on it?”

“Yeah. If she’s back in the country, she’s in on it. She knew what he was.” Matt almost blames Vanessa more than Fisk. Fisk is a snake, but Vanessa is the one who chose to love him.

“You gonna kill her, too?” Luke’s voice holds no condemnation. 

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think we should be killing anyone,” Danny interrupts. “We’re the good guys.”

“You’re the only one who thinks that,” Jessica says. “The rest of us know what we are.”

“It’s the only way to make sure they stay down, Danny,” Frank tells Danny. His tone is surprisingly gentle. Matt wonders if he’s somehow instilled tact in Frank. The thought is terrifying.

“Sure, just talk to Danny reasonably,” Matt mutters. “It’s not like you shot me in the head to make your point or anything.”

“He shot you in the head?” Danny asks.

“Yup. Said  _ bang _ and bounced a bullet off my skull. It was all very dramatic. Woke up on a roof twelve hours later with the worst headache I’ve ever had.”

“It didn’t cause lasting damage,” Frank protests. “And you were pissing me off.”

“I mean, I shot Luke in the head that one time,” Jessica muses. “Didn’t seem to do anything.”

Matt and Luke both sigh heavily.

“I haven’t been shot in the head or shot anyone in the head,” Danny says. “Is this a rite of passage or something?”

“Yes,” Jessica says. “Gotta do it before you can get a cool superhero name.”

“She’s joking,” Luke informs Danny hastily.

“Okay,” Danny says. He doesn’t sound convinced.

Matt mentally calculates how much he and Luke will have to pitch in for bail when Danny shoots some poor bastard.


	28. No Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calc 2 is the epitome of suffering. Past me made some poor choices and present me is suffering.   
> Integrals are the actual devil.

The basic plan is simple: break into Fisk’s house, kill him and Vanessa, and get away-- all without being seen.

The actual execution, though, gets complicated quickly.

“Stark’s info says he’s got some pretty tight security,” Frank says, pacing the length of Danny’s living room. “Lots of cameras, motion detectors, all that shit.”

“Stark might be able to hack in or something,” Danny comments. He’s perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. 

“Yeah, but he won’t,” Jessica says. “He’s too busy covering his own ass to care about what we do.”

“He’s a dick with an ego bigger than his stupid tower," Frank agrees. “She’s right. We can’t depend on anyone else here. Stark might help with damage control, but he won’t help us.”

He pauses. “Red, I don’t suppose...”

“I doubt it,” Matt says. “But I’ll ask. If anyone can get past that much security, it’s her.”

“You’re talking about the Black Widow?” Danny asks. He hops off the counter. His heart is thumping with excitement. “Am I going to meet the Black Widow?”

“Probably not,” Matt says. “But it can’t hurt to ask.”

Danny, for all that he’s been through and everything he’s suffered, is so innocent it’s painful. He’s still just a child. A child with enough power to punch through metal, but a child nonetheless.

Matt feels ancient next to Danny. There was joy like that in Matt’s life before the Snap; he’d felt excitement like that with Elektra, exploring the world and saving people at her side.

He listens to Danny chatter about how much he admires Black Widow. Matt's only thought is that Elektra would have loved Natasha Romanoff.

Every thought he has is of Elektra, and without his wife there is no joy in the world for him. Only anger and a grim sense of purpose remain.

The anger is his thing to hold onto. Matt doesn’t dare let himself think about what might happen if he ever loses it.

“Red,” Frank says. “You gonna call her or what?”

“Yeah.” Matt clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll ask her. Just don’t expect her to say yes.”

“Yes,” Natasha says. 

Matt, who has already opened his mouth to try to persuade her, pauses.

“Really?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

She laughs. “Do you want me to help or not, Matt?”

“Of course I do,” Matt says. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say yes. I thought you would have other things to do.”

“I do. But the world can take care of itself for a while. It’s good to remember the small-scale things, because they're important as well. Also, I’m angry with Tony.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Told me to move on.”

Matt's hand goes to the chain around his neck. The ring beside his cross is warm beneath his fingers.

He thinks of Elektra’s laughter, running from the police; of Foggy handing him a sandwich and a beer during movie night; of his bloodied and bruised fingers brushing his father's boxing gear as he takes out his mask.

“There is no moving on from some things," Matt says. He's not sure which one of the two of them he’s saying it to.

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes. “There’s not.”

She coughs and her tone becomes brusque. “I’ll be at Rand’s house in a few hours.”

Natasha hangs up before Matt can ask how she knew where they were.

Matt tells the other four about Natasha's decision. Danny pumps his fist when he learns that he’ll be meeting Natasha.

“She already knew where we were, which was a little creepy.”

“She’s the Black Widow, Matt,” Jessica says. “Of course she knew.”

“She’s terrifying,” Frank adds.

“You’re scared of her?” Luke asks. There’s laughter in his voice.

“I’d be stupid not to be,” Frank retorts. “She’s the one person in New York who could track me down and kill me without breaking a sweat.”

“We should ask her to stick around,” Matt suggests. “See if she could fix your attitude problem.”

Frank throws a pillow at him. Matt ducks behind Luke, who just sighs.

Natasha Romanoff, it turns out, drives a Prius. Jessica conveys this information to Matt with an undeniable air of disappointment.

“Practical,” Frank observes, opening the door for her.

“That’s the goal.” Natasha strides in with confidence in every line of her body. “I thought about taking my Harley, but nobody looks twice at a Prius, so here we are.”

The sound of her boots on the marble floor is barely audible. She has a knife in a holster on her back, and her two taser things-- Matt thinks she’d called them Widow Bites-- are strapped to her thighs. There’s a gun holstered beneath her left arm.

Matt isn’t sure if this is Natasha’s version of “loaded for bear” or “casual dress”.

“Good to see you, Matt,” Natasha murmurs. “Even given the circumstances.”

Natasha’s approach sends a waft of her scent towards him-- lilies, coffee, and vanilla. She stands on her toes to kiss Matt on the cheek. One of her braids brushes his shoulder. Unlike her perfume, which smells expensive, her hair was washed a few days ago with store-brand pomegranate shampoo.

Just like with Stark, Natasha’s scent is a mixture of exorbitant products and everyday life. Matt brushes her cheek with his lips in return, feels her smile, and wonders if perhaps the Avengers were so untouchable after all.

“Matt told me you’re going after Fisk,” Natasha says, stepping back. “What do you want me to do?”

Natasha has a contact who agrees to shut off Fisk’s power at two am the next day.

“He’s probably got a backup generator,” Luke points out, leaning over Natasha’s laptop. “Rich white guys like him usually do in case stuff like this happens.”

“I don’t have a backup generator,” Danny says. “Should I get one?”

“Are you planning on making a lot enemies?” Jessica inquires from her seat at the counter. She has a bottle of cheap bourbon in front of her. The smell of it stings Matt’s sinuses from ten feet away.

“I mean, I kind of already have,” Danny says.

“Get one.” Jessica takes a swig.

Natasha’s fingers fly across her keyboard. 

“How likely is it that the cameras are hooked up to the backup generator?” Luke asks. “If it’s just to keep the lights and heat on, it might not be a big deal.”

Natasha turns her head towards Frank. Matt’s not good with sightlines, given that he has no sight, but he would bet that they’re making eye contact.

“I think we can chance it,” Natasha says. “If there are cameras, it’s not like it’ll stop us. I can always guilt Tony into wiping the footage.”

“Really?” Frank asks. “He was pretty clear about not wanting to get involved.”

“He will if I ask him to,” Natasha says. Her fingers still on the keyboard. “He owes me that much. Tony likes to talk about moving on, but after everything we’ve been through… he’ll do it if I ask him to, yes.”

“Great,” Frank mutters. “Don’t suppose you can ask him to just blow the place up?”

Natasha snorts. The sound of her fingers against the keys starts again. “Tony doesn’t like to get his hands dirty anymore.”

Matt steps on Frank’s foot before Frank can say something that will get him tazed. Stark might be a coward, but he was Natasha’s family once. Matt understands better than most what family means to people like them.

Besides, Tony had promised to keep them out of the news. That was something, at least.

“Fisk has to have heard about Gao,” Luke points out. “He’ll know we’re coming for him.”

“Good,” Matt says. 

“Your smile’s creeping Danny out, Red.”


	29. Praying for Keeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick-- again-- so I'm posting today.  
> (For the amount I wash my hands, I should be bulletproof, but unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case.)  
> The great thing about writing is that I can just skip difficult parts. I’ll just say that they broke in successfully and there was much ass-kicking.  
> Some discussion of alcoholism in this chapter, by the way. Just so you know.
> 
> Title from Holy by Pvris. The song is about someone who's religious for the wrong reasons, so. Seemed fitting.  
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I live for feedback! :)

Matt stands in front of Fisk, panting, his lips drawn back. 

Frank has a gun trained on Fisk. Frank’s heartbeat isn’t much faster than it usually is. Matt lets the steady sound of it keep him grounded.

Vanessa’s sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room. (Natasha tazed her with satisfaction.)

Matt can hear the others searching the rest of Fisk’s house. Matt would bet money that somewhere there’s a safe in the wall with papers in code. For such a powerful organization, the Hand doesn’t seem to believe in adapting.

“You won’t do it,” Fisk says, drawing Matt’s attention back to him. “I know you won’t. You still like to think you’re above killing, that you’re better than me. Mr. Castle might be a murderer, but you pretend not to be.”

Matt’s smile widens. He holds his hand out in Frank’s direction. 

Frank hands Matt his pistol with no hesitation. The handle of the gun is warm.

“You won’t do it,” Fisk repeats. His heartbeat is speeding up.

Matt aims at the sound of Fisk’s heartbeat and pulls the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot-- and the smell of blood-- fill the room.

“You lost,” Matt tells Fisk. “I’m going to destroy everything you are, everything you’ve built, and you’re going to die knowing that nothing you’ve done will mean anything.”

Fisk gasps for breath.

“And Vanessa?” Matt tells him. “Vanessa’s going to spend the rest of her life in jail, knowing that she married a failure.”

Fisk turns his head to look to where his wife is. 

His breathing slows, then stops.

“He knew,” Frank says. “The look in his eyes said he knew he lost.”

“Some prayers do get answered,” Matt says.

The cross around his neck feels no heavier than usual.

“Yeah, hi,” Luke says into Vanessa’s cell phone. “Someone’s setting this place on fire. Don’t worry, the owner deserved it.”

He hangs up and Matt drops the match onto Fisk’s body. The gasoline Frank poured onto the corpse catches fire and Matt feels the heat begin to spread.

“Let’s go,” Natasha says. “Tony’s wiping the footage.”

Matt listens to the sirens approaching as they run. He could almost swear that Elektra’s running beside him, laughing.

They leave a still-unconscious Vanessa handcuffed to the railing of Brett’s precinct, the proof of her involvement taped to the front doors.

Frank says the papers prove her involvement, at any rate. Matt kind of has to trust him on that.

Everyone but Natasha wakes up in Danny’s living room with a hangover.

“How are you not dying?” Luke groans. His head’s on the counter and he’s shielding his eyes from the light with his arm. Matt lets his head fall onto Luke’s arm. It’s like leaning on a rock.

“I’m Russian,” Natasha says, flipping a pancake expertly. 

Natasha tries to go over the papers she and Danny had found after everyone has pancakes and coffee in front of them. 

“I managed to decode--”

Jessica holds up a hand.

“Nat,” Jessica says, “You’re terrifying and I love you. But if you keep talking, I’m going to have to stab you with this butter knife.”

Natasha laughs and spears another piece of pancake with her fork.

“I’m dying,” Danny moans. “This is what death feels like.”

“Nah,” Frank says, taking an enormous gulp of coffee. “This is what surviving near-fatal alcohol poisoning feels like.”

Max is still snoring underneath the coffee table.

It takes a few hours for the non-Russians to shower and down copious amounts of Advil and coffee. A good thirty minutes of that is dedicated to Matt trying to talk Frank out of feeling guilty about drinking. 

“I promised, Red,” Frank says, sitting on his bed. “I promised Maria I wouldn’t drink anymore.”

“Okay,” Matt says. He’s not sure what else to say. “I think she’d understand.”

“Maybe.” Frank is fiddling with the ring beside the dog tags he always wears. Just another trait they share these days. “She probably would. She… she was good at understanding, even if she’d rip me up one side and down the other for the stupid shit I did.”

Matt sits beside Frank and listens.

“Last night was one time,” Frank murmurs. “Last night was a one-off and it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s not just a one time thing, Red,” Frank says. “It never is. I can tell myself it is, that it’s just one drink, just one time, but it never is. It’s not the first drink that’s the problem. It’s all the ones that come after.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t touch a drop for years. Not til last night. It was hard. God, it was hard. But I did it. I fucked up last night, Red.”

“Okay,” Matt repeats. 

“I fucked up. I’m gonna fuck up again. I fuck up everything I touch.”

“Yeah, well, so do I,” Matt says. “You aren’t special, Frank. You’re fucked up? Everyone like us is. You think you’re poison? Get in line.”

Matt pauses for breath. “Yeah, you fucked up. Get over it. Don’t do it again.”

Frank’s hand flexes. Matt wonders if he’s about to get decked, but Frank says, “Don’t let me, Red.”

“Okay,” Matt says. It's all he can say.

It isn’t. But Matt’s going to try to make it okay.

“Okay,” Jessica says, blowing on her fifth cup of coffee. “I’m ready to think about things again.”

“I didn’t know you ever thought about things,” Danny mutters, before adding, “Joking. Sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

Matt holds his breath.

“Shut up, asshole,” Jessica says. “Natasha, go.”

Only Jessica would give orders to the Black Widow. Fortunately, Natasha seems amused.

“You know someone named Dimitris Samaras, Matt?” Natasha asks, flipping through papers. 

“Yes, actually. He was stealing from… from Elektra.”

Every time Matt says her name it hurts a little less.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, that money was going to Gao’s operation, so your wife’s money was being used in her operations.”

Matt rubs his hands over his face. “Wonderful.” Wondering who his money helped hurt is definitely going to keep him up tonight.

“The good news is, Gao was pressuring him to funnel her money because the Snap decimated her networks.”

“So,” Luke says, “Selling heroin was more important to her than we thought?”

“It appears that way, yes,” Natasha answers. “The papers Fisk had in a safe suggest that Gao and someone named Murakami were the only leaders of the Hand to survive the Snap. Tony dug up the name Murakami but couldn’t get much else, which says something.”

“No location?” Danny confirms.

“Nope. If the guy shows up, though, we’ll know. I’m going to tell the others about it, see if we can’t get rid of the Hand now that most of their strength is gone.”

“Natasha?" Matt asks as he walks her to her car.

"Yes?"

"How did Stick know where Tony was? And how did he get past all the security Stark must have?” 

That’s been bothering Matt. Stick’s good, but Stark is… Well. 

Stark is Tony fucking Stark.

"No idea," Natasha says. "If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably someone who knows both of you and didn’t want you to fight. Hypothetically.”

Matt nods solemnly. “Hypothetically.”

“I have no idea who gave Stick the information, of course,” Natasha continues. “But I’d wager they have a vested interest in taking down the Hand. On an unrelated note, did you know the program which made me was affiliated with the Hand?"

Matt very carefully does not change his pace. "I did not. That’s… interesting."

"Isn't it just." 

Natasha unlocks her car and squeezes Matt’s hand. “Come up and spar with me. I get bored.”

“As soon as this mess gets dealt with,” Matt promises.

“Oh, Matthew,” she murmurs. “Haven’t you learned yet that it’s never really dealt with?”

Matt gets a text from Natasha three days later. Frank reads it for him.

_Tony and Steve agreed to help._

Matt uses voice-to-text for his response. Frank serves as his reluctant proofreader. 

_might get dealt with after all_


	30. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank wraps his arm tighter around Red’s waist to keep him upright and regrets every decision he’s ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’ALL  
> HOW DID I MISS THE CHANCE TO MAKE THIS FIC THIRTY CHAPTERS  
> …
> 
> Another Frank POV chapter.  
> Disclaimer: in theory I can do stitches, but in practice you don’t want me to, so… Hell, just assume I know nothing about anything whatsoever and we’ll be set.  
> There’s officially five chapters left, btw.

Matt and Frank part from Luke, Danny, and Jessica in an atypically anticlimactic fashion. Danny buys Midland Circle, hires a company to fill in the hole beneath it, and everyone goes back to their (relatively) normal lives. There are no unexpected new threats, no fights, no disagreements, just an exchange of numbers.

Frank allows Danny to hug him. The kid’s kind of sweet.

“It feels like there should be some sort of disaster to keep us there,” Red says as he and Frank walk up the stairs to their apartment, Max trotting ahead of them. “You know? This is too easy.”

Frank grunts and unlocks the door. He does know. It all went too smoothly. He’s trying not to question it, though. 

The two of them fall back into their usual routine with some minor alterations.

Frank drives Matt up to the Avengers compound so he can spar with Natasha every month or so. Frank grumbles, but he really doesn’t mind, because fighting with her makes Red light up. 

Red decides Danny’s going to get himself killed and starts giving the kid lessons on how to fight properly, with Frank stopping by occasionally to make fun of both of them; Frank and Luke, as the only sane ones, go out for dinner sometimes; Red and Jessica, to Frank’s utter horror, go clubbing; Frank and Jessica bitch about how stupid people are while drinking coffee and nothing stronger. 

(Jessica tells Frank that Luke and her friend Trish have been saying she should drink less and she thinks maybe they’re right. Frank tells her about Maria. They drink a lot of coffee.)

The five of them get together for dinner on occasion, usually after taking down a major threat. They argue, and they fight, and they bitch, but the easy camaraderie starts to feel a lot like Frank’s old regiment. 

It’s not bad, all things considered. Red’s talking and seems to be burning with that purpose again. Frank’s not waking up dreaming of Maria and the kids dying as much. New York’s recovering from losing four and a half million people and the world’s recovering from losing nearly four billion.

Over all, Frank thinks things are going okay.

Naturally, it all goes to Hell.

It’s coming up on the fifth anniversary of the Snap when Frank comes back to the apartment and hears the sound of Max barking, followed by gunfire.

Frank curses silently and pulls out his keys with urgency. He’d kick down the door, but one of the first things he’d done when he moved in was reinforce the inside of the door so that it couldn’t be kicked down.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

He unlocks the door with his pistol in hand and kicks it open standing to the side of the doorway. Frank knows what happens if you frame yourself in a doorway during a firefight, and it ain’t pretty.

“Frank?” Red calls after a tense pause. “You’re good to come in. He’s out.”

Frank gives it a second and ducks into the apartment. He scans the interior. When he doesn’t see anybody still standing besides Red (and Max, who’s wedged himself into the corner and is growling), he lowers his gun to point at the unconscious man on the floor. The guy’s wearing a costume that looks identical to Red’s.

The guy’s also been shot in the neck. It looks like Max tore into his leg pretty good, too.

_ Good boy, Maxie.  _

Max is just as much of a fighter as Frank and Matt are. Frank forgets that, sometimes.

Frank holsters his gun. “What the fuck, Red.” 

He doesn’t even bother making it a question. He kind of signed up for weird when he dragged Matthew Murdock’s stubborn ass out of an alley.

“I, uh...” 

Matt’s shaking. Frank takes a few steps forward, worried. Matt doesn’t go into shock much. “He came in through the window. Your gun was, uh, it was on the table. I kind of just fired at his… at his pulse. He’s dead.”

“I’d say so.” For a blind guy, Red’s got killer aim. Frank will have to take him out to play darts. “You hurt?”

Matt lifts his hand to his shoulder. It comes away covered in blood “He… yeah. He had a knife.”

“Okay. Let’s take a look at it.” 

Frank raises his hand when Matt manages a shaky smile. “Don’t make the joke, Red. Don’t do it. Just don't.”

“We should move,” Matt says. “I don’t know who he was working for, but whoever it is knows where we are.”

“It can wait until I’m sure you’re not gonna pass out on me,” Frank says. 

Matt doesn’t argue, which is another worrying sign. 

Frank has to put off stitching up Red’s shoulder for a minute to comfort a shaking Max. The dog’s hackles are still sticking straight up. He leans into Frank’s legs hard.

Matt doesn’t mind the delay; he would have petted the dog for an hour if Frank hadn’t dragged him into the bathroom.

“Self-preservation,” Frank mutters. “Ever heard of it?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, no surprises there.”

How Red survived until Elektra took responsibility of him is a mystery to Frank.

Frank rummages around under the sink. He comes out with a bottle of absinthe, which he hands to Matt. 

It’s shitty absinthe, but it’s the highest proof you can get in the US, so Red’s just going to have to deal with it.

Red takes a long sip and winces. 

"I've got--" Frank starts.

"No drugs."

Frank rolls his eyes. He’s got some oxy in the kit specifically for these kinds of occasions, but Matt says opioids throw his senses off and refuses to take them. Therefore, the moron gets stuck with bad alcohol.

Matt pulls his shirt off with Frank's help.

Frank evaluates the knife cut. It isn’t deep enough to warrant two layers of stitches, which is good, since Frank hates using the dissolving suture-- it’s impossible to tie off. The laceration is long, though.

“Hurry up,” Matt grunts. “I happen to be bleeding.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Frank turns the showerhead to its weakest setting. Before he can stitch Matt up, he has to clean the cut out. Infections are not something Frank’s qualified to deal with. 

“Get in the shower, Red.”

Matt swallows some more booze, places the bottle on the counter, and steps into the shower. Frank strips off his shirt as well-- he doesn’t want to get soaked more than necessary-- and follows suit.

Once the cut’s been rinsed out and doused in hydrogen peroxide, Frank shoves Red onto the toilet seat and forces him to sit still.

Matt takes another large swig of absinthe. Frank rips the suture kit open and clips the needle into place in the needle-drivers. 

“This is gonna hurt,” Frank warns.

Even most of the way to drunk, Matt’s unimpressed face is a force of nature.

Matt’s pain tolerance is both impressive and concerning. 

“Don’t bite your tongue off,” Frank orders. 

Not screaming is all well and good until you bite through your tongue. Frank knows that one from experience.

“No shit, you asshole,” Matt gasps. He screams through his teeth as Frank pulls the suture through.

Yeah, he’ll be fine.

Frank pulls out his phone while Matt’s sitting on his bed in a daze of pain, shock, and booze. He goes to his contacts and hesitates with his thumb hovering over the screen.

Frank makes his decision and hits  _ call _ . The call is answered within two rings.

“Hey, what’s up?” Luke asks. “Something come up on Thursday?”

Frank takes half a second to appreciate how nice it is to have a team (that’s what it is, even if the rest of them refuse to say it) again. It’s handy to have people at your side when you’ve just survived an assassination attempt.

“Someone broke in and tried to kill Red,” Frank says. “I stitched him up but we need to move. Whoever it is knows where we are.”

“I’m on my way,” Luke says. His tone is all business. “Jess has a car. Be there in twenty five or so.”

“Copy that.”

Frank hangs up and heads over to search the dead guy.

The dead guy’s suit is identical to Red’s.

Melvin’s been compromised, then. Good to know.

They’re going to have to change a lot of things up. If their contacts and location have both been compromised, then there’s no telling what else has been.

Frank relieves the body of several knives while he’s at it.

Hey, they’re nice knives. There’s no such thing as having too many nice knives, no matter what Red says.

There’s nothing else on the corpse. No ID, no tattoos, nothing.

Frank pulls off the mask, memorizes the face, and takes a picture. He starts packing up.

Twenty three minutes after Frank calls Luke, Frank’s phone buzzes with a text message from Jessica.

_ Coming up. _

Frank clips on Max’s leash. Matt’s not fond of the idea of moving-- Frank can’t blame him, considering-- but Frank wraps Matt’s good arm around his neck and hauls Matt upright. 

“Where are we going?” Matt mumbles. He’s swaying on his feet. 

“Don’t know,” Frank answers. “But it’s with Luke and Jessica, so it’s safe.”

“Cool.” Matt passes out.

“Fucking--” Frank wraps his arm tighter around Red’s waist to keep him upright and regrets every decision he’s ever made. 

Luke and Jessica burst through the door looking prepared to kill someone. When they’re satisfied the threat’s dealt with, they relax and turn to Frank.

“You want me to take him?” Luke asks, eyeing how Frank’s holding Matt up.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Matt’s been on Frank about being more polite. If any occasion merits a thank you, it’s this one.

Jessica ends up carrying Max, whose tail wags the entire way down the stairs.


	31. Put My Guns in the Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt’s pretty out of it at this point, so Frank’s the narrator again.  
> Title from “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” by Guns and Roses as I wrote most of this chapter listening to that song on repeat.

Jessica drives to Danny’s house.

“You sure it’s safe?” Frank asks. 

Luke shrugs. “No idea. But we figured it’d be pretty hard to kill Danny Rand and get away with it, and he said he’d order Thai.”

Frank acquiesces to the point.

He’s confident that between the four of them-- he’s not counting Matt, who’s still passed out-- they can handle most things.

Matt’s snoring on Frank’s shoulder with Max in his lap. Frank’s not exactly overwhelmed with confidence in his fighting abilities at the moment.

“Who was it?” Jessica asks. She flips off two people and veers into a different lane before Frank replies. 

“Not sure. I got a picture and his phone, but I didn’t recognize him. Red didn’t say anything either, but he’s, uh, pretty out of it.”

“You took a picture of the dead guy? Isn’t that suspicious”

“What’s one more piece of evidence that could be used against me at my next trial?” Frank asks. “It’s kind of a drop in the ocean at this point.”

Jessica grunts and executes a turn that makes Frank brace for impact.

“Next time, I’ll drive,” Luke says. His voice is faintly uneasy, which adds to Frank’s mounting anxiety.

“Hey, it’s my car. I’m the one who pays a shitton of money to park it, I’m the one who’s driving.”

“On the other hand,” Frank comments, “You and I are the ones who’ll die when you crash into someone, while Luke will be fine.”

Jessica flips him off. “I won’t crash.”

Luke’s look of disbelief gets him flipped off as well.

Danny’s waiting on the curb. Luke hauls Red into his arms princess-style-- Frank’s gonna mock the shit out of Red for that later-- and Frank gets the bags. 

“Frank?” Matt mumbles. His head swings as he tries to turn his face towards Frank.

“I got it, Red.”

Matt manages to nod.

“What happened?” Danny demands.

“Hell if I know,” Jessica mutters. She goes past Danny into the house. Danny steps aside with a faintly resigned expression. “Frank doesn’t know who the dead guy is and Hornhead over there is gonna have to sober up before he can be useful.”

"There's a dead guy?" Danny’s voice rises about an octave.

“Just be glad there’s only one dead guy,” Frank tells the kid. He claps Danny on the shoulder and walks through the doorway. “Doesn’t happen often in this business.”

Frank doesn’t speak much Mandarin-- he knows the basics (how to count, how to order things at a bar, how to ask “who are you working for”, how to ask where the bathroom is, how to threaten to shoot someone in the knee)-- but he knows enough to be pretty sure the things Danny’s muttering to himself are anatomically impossible.

None of the others recognize the dead guy’s face either. Frank’s disappointed but not surprised. He sends the image to Natasha and waits.

Danny orders Thai. 

Thai is Red’s favorite.

Frank tells Luke that he’s not hungry-- Luke gives him a look of concern but nods-- and goes to sit with Matt. Max plants himself in front of Jessica but watches Frank go up the stairs.

Logically, Frank is well aware that Matt will be fine. The bleeding is stopped, and Red’s survived much worse. Even if there’s an infection, one of them will catch it, and it can be dealt with.

Frank’s chest refuses to loosen until he’s watching Matt.

_Compromised._

Frank sits, and he watches Matt breathe, and he wonders why the hell he ever let anyone, especially Matthew fucking Murdock, mean this much to him.

He thought he knew better.

Luke comes in and sits with Frank. He says nothing and scrolls through his phone.

Frank can breathe easier because of Luke’s presence, though.

Natasha responds an hour after he texts her.

_Benjamin Poindexter, better known as “Dex”. FBI. Tony’s been trying to track Murakami and he’s 93% sure they met a few weeks ago. I’ll send a clean-up team to the apartment._

Frank stares at his phone screen. 

“Fuck.”

“What?” Luke asks, looking up. 

“The Hand. They’re still after Red.”

Luke raises one palm in a shrug. “I think they’re gonna be after him until he dies or they do, Frank.”

“Yeah, well. They ain’t getting any more shots at him.”

Luke puts his phone down. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Frank says, looking at Red’s still, pale face, “that we’re taking the fight to them.”

Luke says, deadpan, “Not to ruin the dramatic effect or anything, but that really didn’t clarify anything, Frank.”

“We’re gonna kill the last finger of the Hand. Murakami. I’m going to put a bullet through his fucking brain.”

Luke looks away from Frank. His eyes land on Matt.

“Frank… I’ve had enough killing for a lifetime, man.” Luke’s face is drawn. The expression makes him look far older than Frank knows him to be.

“I know,” Frank says. God, does he know. In this moment, all he wants is to be done with it all, to wash the blood off his hands and stop. To put his gun down. He’s tired of the death, tired of the never-ending war. Even if there’s no way in Hell he’s ever going to surrender, he's tired.

Frank’s never even thought about wanting to stop before. He wouldn’t even consider wanting to if it was anyone but Matt lying there.

“I know, Luke. But Red…” 

Frank trails off, searching for the words. Red’s the fancy talker. Frank’s just the guard dog. 

“I’m tired, Luke. God knows I’m getting tired of all of this. I’ve been fighting wars for so long. And I know it’ll kill me someday. But there’s no stopping, not now. And even if there was, for Red? For Matt? I'd…" 

Frank trails off. He can't find the words.

“You’d kill anyone you had to, to keep him safe,” Luke says, and there’s no judgment in his tone. “I know that. And I’m not gonna stop you. Hell, I’ll help you any way I can. You know that. I’d do just about anything for any of you. I’m just saying that maybe once this war’s over we can leave it be. I’m not saying we stop helping people, but all of this death, man? Maybe once this is over we can save lives instead of taking ‘em.”

“It ain’t ever gonna be over,” Frank says. He’s unaware of how similar his words are to what Natasha Romanoff said to Matt, years ago. He just knows he’s speaking the truth. “But yeah... maybe. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Luke repeats, and his smile is tired. “Guess that’s the best anyone can hope for.”

Frank gets another text from Natasha. It’s brief and to the point.

_Barton’s on it. Murakami won’t be a problem anymore._

“Looks like we won’t have to go after the bastard after all,” Frank says. He shows Luke the message. 

“If all it takes is for you to be dramatic for the Black Widow to solve our problems, you should act like Matt. Steal his suit and stand on rooftops like you’re asking to get shot. Maybe wear a cape and get a theme song.”

“Fuck off,” Frank says amiably.

His phone goes off again. He opens Natasha’s message with trepidation.

_No body in your apartment._

The string of curses Frank lets out makes Luke raise his eyebrows.

Matt begins to stir not long after that conversation.

“Frank?” he croaks. “Is that Thai downstairs?”

“Yeah, Red,” Frank tells him. He’ll deny his intense sense of relief until his dying day. “That’s Thai downstairs.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine,” Luke says. Frank likes the smile on Luke’s face much better than his previous exhaustion.

“Hey, Luke.” Matt sits up with a wince. “Thanks for getting us.”

“Any time.”

“Don’t suppose you’d help me get downstairs?”

Luke chuckles and stands up. “Sure. I could even carry you again, if you want.”

“Wait, did you--”

“Yep, he carried you,” Frank says cheerfully. “Like a bride on her wedding day.”

Matt groans and falls back onto his pillow.

Frank waits to talk about Benjamin Poindexter until Matt’s demolished a container of Pad Thai. Red’s going to have the hangover from Hell unless he eats and gets some water in him.

“If you’d just take the goddamn painkillers,” Frank starts, ignoring Matt’s scowl, “we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“You could always take the painkillers with booze,” Jessica suggests. She’s sitting in the living room and pretending not to be scrutinizing Matt’s every move.

“Don’t do that, Matt,” Luke says. Matt looks mutinous. 

Frank coughs before Matt can do something more stupid than usual. “According to Stark, there’s a 93% chance the guy who tried to kill you was working for Murikami. Natasha says she’s got a lead on him, though, so for once it’s not our problem. Um. The guy’s body did kind of vanish, though, so...”

Matt puts his fork down with a clank. 

“Christ,” Jessica says. “Can’t they just fuck off already?”

Frank doesn’t disagree with her assessment.


	32. Crowd Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, y’all. Here comes Endgame. This chapter goes out to DJClawson, whose comments always make my day and who was hoping someone in this chapter would come back into the narrative at some point.  
> It’s going to be so weird not to be working on this fic after this long. I think I started this… last July? Wow.  
> Enjoy!

“So I don’t have to deal with ninjas?” Jessica confirms. “No weird-ass Force shit, no weird-ass old ladies who come back to life?”

“No ninjas,” Frank affirms. “Thank Christ.”

“Too easy,” Matt mumbles. “There’s gotta be a catch.”

Matt can’t tell if he’s paranoid or just realistic.

“If you can’t trust the Black Widow,” Frank says, “than who can you trust?”

Matt concedes the point.

All of them silently agree not to mention the fact that the man who wore Matt’s suit is probably still out there.

Frank and Matt start looking for apartments. It's New York, so it's an arduous process.

Frank suggests moving out of Hell’s Kitchen for the sake of affordability.

Matt just gives Frank a blank look until he drops the idea.

They find an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.

Four days after Matt was attacked, Natasha calls him around three am. 

Matt almost doesn’t answer-- he’s monitoring the docks while Frank tries to locate the informant they need to shut down a meth operation-- but he knows Natasha wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.

“Hey, Nat,” he says. "What's up?" 

Frank doesn't move, but Matt can feel him tense where he’s sprawled on the edge of the rooftop.

Natasha gives a long exhale and says, "Something big is about to go down, Matt. If it doesn’t work, then you guys are going to have to step up, okay?”

Matt tilts his head. Faintly, he can hear Stark’s voice in the background.

“What happens if it does work?”

She laughs. The sound is exhausted. “Then we’re gonna have one hell of an adjustment to make.”

“You’re bringing everyone back,” Matt realizes.

Frank’s shoulders jerk. 

He puts his scope down, stands up, and walks over to Matt. Matt tilts the phone so Frank can hear as well. 

Having normal hearing must be so limiting.

“We’re gonna bring them back or die trying, anyway,” Natasha says. There's an odd undertone in her voice. Matt won't know what that undercurrent in her voice means until he gets a call from Clint Barton two days later. “Just… just be ready for whatever happens, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Murakami’s dead, by the way,” she adds. “Barton took his head off and we burned the body.”

Matt is stunned into silence. He doesn’t know how to even begin processing that information. To know that the last of the Hand is dead… 

He catches Stark call, “ _ T-minus seven, Nat! _ ”

“I have to go,” Natasha says. “But… I wanted to let you know.”

Matt hesitates, then says, “Good luck, Nat. With whatever it is you’re doing. I hope it works.”

“Thank you.” She hangs up.

Frank and Matt stand in silence.

“We gotta tell the others,” Matt says at last.

Frank clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s, uh, let’s go do that.”

“Holy shit,” Jessica says. 

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Holy shit.”

(Later, Matt will remember Natasha saying  _ die trying _ , and he’ll wonder if she knew even then that she was going to her death.

He’ll think she probably did. Natasha was never one to be unprepared.)

It’s about five pm when Matt wakes up yelling in pain.

Frank comes through the door with his gun drawn and Max barking wildly. When he doesn’t see any threats, he lowers his gun.

“Red?”

Matt’s hands are clamped over his ears. The sudden onslaught of information after five years of quiet is overwhelming. 

Through gritted teeth, he says, “It’s too loud.”

“What is?”

“The--” Matt takes one hand away from his ear to gesture wildly. “The city.”

Frank’s heart rate jumps. He bolts to the window.

“There’s… Red, there’s birds. I think...”

Luke bursts through the door, Jessica and Danny on his tail. “Guys--”

“Those crazy sons of bitches did it,” Frank says, laughing. “Jesus Christ, they actually pulled it off.”

Matt can hear  _ everything _ again, and it’s too  _ much _ , but he can’t stop smiling.

“They pulled it off,” Matt echoes, and he says a wordless prayer of gratitude to God.

Then he hears the first screams, and remembers his promise to Natasha.

“We gotta get out there.” Matt stands, swaying. Luke catches his arm. “Someone just got shot.”

“‘Course they did,” Jessica says, but her heartbeat is fast. “Come on, Karate Kid. Let’s go make like comic book characters.”

“It’s not ka--” Danny begins to protest.

“It’s basically karate,” Jessica interrupts. “Shut up and get your stuff on already.”

“You sure you’re good to go out?” Frank asks Matt, quietly enough no one else can hear it. 

“I have to be,” Matt says grimly. He pulls on his helmet. 

Frank nods.

The five of them head into the chaos.

Something’s blocking the sun, and people are screaming about it.

“What is it?” Matt asks Frank, irritated. Eight million people screaming is headache-inducing and he already has a pounding ache in his skull.

“Um,” Frank says. “Looks like a giant-ass spaceship with a lot of smaller ones around it. Sky’s, uh, sky’s going kinda dark.”

Matt considers that information. “Well, we can’t do anything about that.”

“Nope.”

Matt nods and goes back to scanning for trouble.

The Avengers? The gods and supersoldiers and self-made weapons who were supposed to protect the world from the things people like Matt couldn’t? 

This was their problem.

Matt was going to do what Natasha asked him to.

He was going to take care of his city, because that was the only thing he could do.

The ships vanish fifteen minutes later. Matt wonders, but he’s got better things to worry about.

Someone pulls a gun on Luke when he tells them to drop their stolen merchandise.

Matt ducks behind Luke and feels his devil’s smile spread across his lips.

This is what he was made for.

“I didn’t sign up for crowd control,” Jessica complains as she shoves a yelling guy ten feet backwards. 

“Yeah, well.” Matt ducks a punch and lands an undercut to his attacker’s jaw. “What else were you planning on doing with your weekend?”

“Literally anything else.”

“Fair enough,” Matt concedes.

Frank point-blank executes someone for trying to abduct a kid. The man dies begging for his life.

Once, Matt would have minded.

It hits Matt as he’s talking down a freaked-out kid with a knife.

_ Elektra’s alive.  _

Suddenly, nothing else matters.

Matt manages to keep enough of his attention on the kid to confiscate the knife.

Every cell in his body wants to take a plane to Athens and find Elektra, but Matt hears a kid screaming for help and drags himself back to reality.

Matt can’t abandon his city. Not now.

Elektra will find him. She knows who he is, and she knows where he would have gone.

Besides, Daredevil isn’t a subtle figure.

She’ll find him. Elektra could find him anywhere. She’ll have no trouble finding Matt in New York.

_ She’s alive. _

Matt finds himself back-to-back with Danny in front of the police station, trying to keep the surging crowd under control.

He hears Brett speaking to a hysterical child and heads forward with vague plans of coordinating action.

Before he gets to Brett, though, Matt hears a voice that makes his lungs seize up.

“Hey, what’s your name, kid? Marissa? Okay, Marissa, can you take a deep breath for me?”

Matt sprints forward, dodging people who don’t know enough to get out of his way. Danny shouts a question after him that Matt doesn’t listen to.

Matt skids to a stop at the foot of the police stairs. 

“Okay, Marissa, I promise everything’s gonna be--”

The speaker stops talking.

“ _ Matt? _ "

“Hey, Foggy,” Matt croaks.


	33. What We Deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This was supposed to be a five hundred word one-shot," I whisper to myself while staring at my computer screen at 12:43pm.

Foggy yanks Matt into a hug. Matt hugs back hard and stops listening to the city for a moment. 

Foggy cut his hair at some point, but it still smells like that rosemary shampoo he’s always liked. His heart is pounding quickly, but it still sounds like the steady rhythm that was the underpinning of Matt’s life for so long.

“God,” Foggy breathes. He buries his face in Matt’s armored shoulder. His shoulders are shaking. “God, Matt. You _ asshole _ .”

Foggy lets go abruptly. Before Matt can say anything, though, Foggy hits him in the jaw.

Matt turns his head with the punch but doesn’t try to avoid it. He deserves it. 

“Ow,” Foggy yelps, clutching his hand. “Jesus, Matt, do you work out your jaw, too?”

Matt’s smiling so hard it’s painful. “Nah. You just can’t throw a punch.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

There’s a pause. They’re in the midst of a crowd, but the silence between them is the only thing Matt can hear.

“When this is over,” Foggy says, “or, you know, when things have calmed down a little bit, you’re going to parkour your ass over to my apartment, and we are going to get drunk, and we are going to talk about a lot of things. Like, a lot.”

Matt nods mutely.

“For now, though,” Foggy continues, turning towards the woman he’d been speaking to, “You’re going to help Marissa-- this is Marissa-- get home safe.”

Matt doesn’t deserve Foggy’s faith. He wants to be worthy of it, though.

He pulls off his glove and offers his hand to Marissa. Her heartbeat says she’s young-- he’d guess she’s around fifteen-- and scared. She’s holding herself together well, though.

“I’ll take you home,” Matt tells her. He considers, then adds, “If you want me to.”

He’s aware of how this situation might look, and he doesn’t want to creep this kid out. In fact, that’s about the last thing he wants to do.

“You’re Daredevil,” Marissa says.

“Yes.” 

“You were gone, when I--” She swallows. Her throat clicks. “When I died.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I’m back now.”

Marissa reaches out and takes his hand. Her cold fingers curl over his bruised ones.

“I live in Harlem,” she says. “The north end.”

Matt nods and squeezes her hand gently. 

“Get back safe, Matt,” Foggy whispers as Matt strides through the crowd. Marissa's slightly behind him, her hand clutching his.

Matt isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that, but it makes him smile all the same.

Matt escorts Marissa most of the way to Harlem. He has to pause several times to deal with robberies, fights, and hysterical people, but Marissa always takes his hand again.

They run into Luke eight blocks from Harlem. He’s giving instructions to a group of people surrounding him.

“Just talk to people,” Luke says. “Calm ‘em down. Tell them everything’s fine, they’re gonna be okay, all that shit. Give ‘em directions if they need it. The cops are better equipped to deal with this stuff than we are. Most of these people are just freaking the fuck out because someone just appeared in their house or whatever and they’ll calm down if they feel like someone’s got an idea what to do.”

“And if we run into someone hurting people?” one man asks. His tone is even.

Luke rolls his shoulders. “That’s why you’re going out with partners. Don’t do anything stupid. Anything else?”

No one else speaks.

“Go on, then.”

As the group Luke was speaking to scatters, Matt walks up to him.

“Hey,” Luke greets. He sounds exhausted. Matt can relate. “It’s Marissa, right?”

Marissa nods. “And you’re Luke. You helped my dad. He was getting robbed, and you stopped it.”

“That’s right.” Luke’s voice softens. “Your dad’s never stopped hoping you’d come back, you know. Still got your picture up in his shop. Talks about you all the time.”

Marissa starts crying. Matt, startled, tries to let go of her hand, but her hand clenches around his until he squeezes back.

“Let’s get you home, honey,” Luke says.

Marissa’s father, after he hugs his daughter, insists on hugging both Matt and Luke.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, over and over. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Marissa hugs them both, too. Matt carefully wraps his arms around her and tries to blink back his tears.

“Don’t leave again, okay?” she tells Matt. “We need you.”

“Okay,” Matt says.

The promise weighs on his mind as he climbs up the nearest fire escape.

There’s still one thing that makes him feel more alive than his city.

But giving New York up again?

Matt thinks it might just kill him this time.

He’s shaken from his thinking by the sound of Frank’s rifle firing-- Matt can recognize the sound all too well, after five years of listening to it-- a quarter mile away.

Matt starts towards Frank and lets the adrenaline drown his thoughts.

He’s got a lot of practice with that. 

The chaos begins to subside around two am.

By that point, the only way Matt’s still on his feet is through sheer, grim force of will. He’s staggering by the time he manages to find one of his teammates. He follows Jessica’s heartbeat to just outside Hell’s Kitchen. 

Jessica looks him over. “Well, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Matt says. He braces his arms on his thighs and tries to catch his breath. His hair and the inside of his helmet-- hell, and his entire body-- are soaked with sweat. He wants to climb into Danny’s extravagant shower and never get out. “I’d tell you how terrible you look, but. You know. I’m kind of blind.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let’s get the fuck back to Danny’s and crash for like a decade.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

Matt manages to fall asleep in the shower. Frank yells invectives at him through the door until he wakes up and stumbles out.

“Gonna be sore as… as all fuckin’ get out in the morning,” Frank grunts as he passes Matt in the bathroom doorway. “Fuckin’ space... Fuckin’ spaceships an’ shit. Can’t just fuck off.” 

Matt’s lips twitch. Matt’s only heard Frank speak when he’s this tired twice before; hearing his Chicago accent come out never becomes less amusing.

“It’d be nice if they would.”

“Stupid goddamn spaceships.”

Matt snorts-- he can’t muster enough energy to laugh-- and passes out almost the moment his head hits the pillow.

Max, frantic from his lack of exercise and human attention, wakes Matt up by barking at him.

Matt makes a mental note to close his door so Max will bother Frank in the future, hauls the dog up onto the bed, and goes back to sleep. 

Around eleven that morning, Frank calls, “Red?” 

Max snuffles and sticks his nose into the small of Matt’s back. Matt lets out an undignified yelp and sits up.

“What?”

“Get downstairs. There’s, uh… there’s someone you’re gonna want to see.”

Matt tilts his head, listening. Jessica’s breathing is coming from a room down the hall. Downstairs, there’s Luke’s steady and strong heartbeat, as well as Danny’s excited voice.

There’s someone else in the living room, though. Someone who smells like citrus and spice.

Someone...

Matt’s chest tightens with a surge of disbelieving hope.

Someone whose heartbeat he knows better than his own.

Someone he married in a church in Cadiz six years ago.

Someone he gave up everything for-- someone he would give up anything for.

_ Elektra. _


	34. Reacclimating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re here for the Elektra/Matt, this chapter goes out to you.

Matt pulls on his shirt while sprinting down the hallway. He narrowly avoids crashing into a wall. He doesn’t care.

He runs down the stairs and stumbles to an abrupt halt as Elektra walks towards him. His voice deserts him. 

“Matthew,” she breathes. “Oh, Matthew.”

Elektra wraps her arms around him. Matt buries his face in the crook of her neck and holds her as tightly as he can. 

He has no words for this. None. All he can do is hold on to her like he’s never letting go and hope she understands. 

Elektra and Matt end up sprawled on the bed in the bedroom Matt’s using. Matt can’t make himself stop touching her. 

(It’s not sexual. He just can’t make himself believe that Elektra’s here, that she won’t turn into dust in his arms.)

Matt maps Elektra’s face with her fingers. She’s just as he remembers, down to the way her eyes drift close and her eyelashes brush his fingers when he traces her cheekbones. 

“I missed you,” Matt says. Words aren’t sufficient to convey just how much, but he tries. “God, Elektra, I missed you so much. I was… I need you. I can’t live without you. Not really. Without you I was just going through the motions.”

She laces her fingers through his. She’s wearing her wedding ring. “I woke up in that villa on the beach, and all I knew was that you weren’t there, and that I was going to find you. Nothing else mattered.” 

Elektra lays her cheek on his shoulder. “Nothing else has ever mattered to me. Not since the first time I saw you with your scuffed wingtips and your anger and your determination.”

Matt kisses her hair. 

He doesn’t know what else to say, but she squeezes his hand, and he thinks she understood.

Frank bangs on their door around dinnertime. Matt wakes up but can’t move. He doesn’t really want to. Elektra’s lying mostly on top of him, her head on his chest, her legs intertwined with his.

“Luke’s not going to leave any leftovers if you don’t get down there,” Frank yells before retreating down the hall.

Elektra yawns. “Sounds like a threat we should take seriously.”

“Mm, probably.” Matt kisses her cheek and disentangles himself reluctantly. “Luke’s a walking garbage disposal.”

She laughs and stands up, stretching.

They brush their teeth side by side. The casual domesticity of it makes Matt’s chest ache. 

Matt rinses his mouth and decides there’s no point in not saying it.

“I love you,” he says. “It’s been five years, and I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Elektra runs a hand through his hair.

“I love you, too. And I know it’s been five years, and I know you might have changed, but that’s never going to change.”

Matt kisses her, properly this time.

They get sidetracked. 

“Luke ate everything,” Danny informs Elektra and Matt when they finally get downstairs. 

Elektra, Matt, and Frank go out together that night. They head west; Luke, Jessica, and Danny head east. 

Elektra somehow manages to come up with an outfit nearly identical to the one she’d worn before everything. 

Matt doesn’t ask how. He’s used to his wife being able to conjure clothing seemingly at will. 

Before Matt pulls on his gloves, he unclasps the cross around his neck to pull his wedding ring from the chain. 

He slides the ring onto his left ring finger. 

It feels like coming home.

“Hurry up, Matthew,” Elektra calls from the hallway. “I’m sure your hair looks fine.”

Matt smiles and tugs his glove on. 

Elektra and Matt spend the night on the streets with Frank providing backup from the top of the buildings. 

Matt takes a moment between scanning for trouble to take Elektra’s face in his hands. 

“This,” Matt pants, “Elektra, this-- this is who I am. This is who we are.”

He’s out of practice. He used to be so good at speaking, at telling her how he felt. Now the words are stumbling and inadequate.

Or maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s just there are no words for this-- whatever _this_ is. 

Whichever it is, Elektra seems to understand.

“I know,” she says. “And I’m never going to leave you again.”

“If you can manage to stop that shit and quit making me nauseous, there’s a group of guys following two girls three blocks to your left,” Frank calls from above them.

“Right.” Matt clears his throat and starts up the nearest wall. 

Elektra stops in the doorway to Frank and Matt’s new apartment. 

“No,” she says. “Just… no.”

“It’s not that bad,” Frank protests.

Matt presumes Elektra gives Frank her most withering stare, because he doesn’t argue when she turns around and says they’re all going to buy furniture.

Matt gets a call from Natasha Romanoff’s phone two days after the Blip.

“Nat?” he asks. “You okay?”

The person on the other end clears their throat. “No. Uh, sorry. She’s… Nat’s dead.”

Matt sits down hard. The couch Elektra bought is comfortable, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Elektra pauses in sharpening her knives. 

“How?”

“She died to bring everybody back,” the man with Natasha’s phone says. “I figured… She’d want you to know.”

The man hangs up before Matt can thank him.

“I wish I could have met her,” Elektra says. “She sounds extraordinary.” 

“Yeah,” Matt manages to croak. He clears his throat. “Yeah, she was.”

Matt gets a text from an unknown number a few hours later.

_This is Clint Barton, by the way. I'm mostly retired, but any friends of Nat are friends of mine._

Matt saves the number.

“You’re on the front page of the New York Post,” Elektra tells him. “It’s a picture of you offering your hand to a kid. The article is by Karen Page.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Matt says. “I forgot to talk to her and Foggy.”

“Get your fine ass moving, then.” Elektra pets Max as the dog nudges her leg. 

Matt’s eighty percent certain Elektra is Matt’s favorite.

Karen slaps Matt and cries. Foggy cries. Matt cries, too.

By the end of it, though, Matt thinks the three of them are going to be okay.

“So many new scars,” Elektra murmurs, trailing her fingers over the ridges of years-old scar tissue criss-crossing his right ribs. “Where are these from?”

“Those are from the time the last members of the Irish mob managed to capture me for a few hours.”

Matt feels his wife go tense with fury.

“Don’t worry. Frank killed them all.” It hadn’t been a pleasant few hours, but he’d survived much worse. 

“Good. I’ll have to send him another edible arrangement.” Elektra traces a jagged scar on his thigh, just to the right of his femoral artery. “And this one?”

“Guy on meth with a knife.”

Her hand slides higher. “And here?”

Matt lets his head fall back onto his pillow. “Still no scars there, babe.”

“Good.”

“Matthew,” Father Lantom says. His tone is friendly, but Matt feels a strong sense of foreboding. “It has been far too long since I saw you.”

Matt resists the urge to run.

Matt has the realization just as he’s falling asleep. 

He tells his wife. Elektra groans and buries her face in her pillow.

Matt and Elektra wake Frank up, much to his annoyance.

“This better be important,” Frank growls. 

“The Blip means three fingers of the Hand just got brought back to life,” Matt says.

Frank closes his eyes. “Motherfucker. Someone make me some goddamn coffee.”


	35. Facing the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s outtakes in the works-- subscribe to the series if you’re interested! There’s going to be a Far From Home one! And maybe at some point there will be a sequel to this one!-- and I’m working on another long Daredevil fic, but…  
> I’m going to miss this one, y’all.  
> Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for putting up with my plot holes and weird update schedule and long author’s notes. Thanks for commenting and subscribing and reading.  
> Thank you for everything.

Matt calls the other three members of his… his whatever it is. He’s not really sure what to call them. 

He settles on _family_.

Danny’s reaction: “Oh, no. That’s bad.”

Luke’s reaction: “Crap.”

Jessica’s reaction: “Fuck.”

All of them say the same thing at some point, though: 

“We’ll deal with it.”

“Do you want to run again?” Matt asks Elektra. They’re on a rooftop not far from the one where he almost lost her. For once, the night is peaceful.

“Would you run with me?”

Matt tilts his head and listens. He listens to his city, he listens to Frank’s breathing a block away, and he listens to Elektra’s heartbeat.

“You know I would.” No matter how much it would tear him apart to leave New York again, no matter how many promises he’s made to the people of his city, he could never leave her again.

“Just like I know that I would never ask you to again,” Elektra says. 

Matt takes a step forward. “You mean that?”

“Listen to my heart, Matthew,” she whispers. She takes his hand and places it on her chest.

She means it. 

“We’ll deal with the Hand,” Elektra tells him. “We’ll fight them, and we might be fighting them for the rest of our lives. But we’ll win. And I’m done running. This is where you belong, and I belong with you.”

Elektra holds out her hand. Matt takes it.

“Let’s go save some people and raise some Hell,” she says. He flashes her his devil’s smile.

They run for the edge of the rooftop together.


	36. Chapter 36

Sequel is officially in progress. It's called Thirty More Sins and should be the latest fic in the series.  
Hope you give it a read!  
-notyouranswer


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